lTbrary of coimgress7I 



Shelf :(2_71 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 



A HOLIDAY TOUR IN EUROPE. 

Described in a Series of Letters written for 
the "Public Ledger." 

12mo. 310 pages. Fine cloth. $1.00. Paper cover. 75 cents. 



OPINIONS OF THE PKESS. 

"Thoroughly used to newspaper work, and experienced in this par- 
ticular species by long connection as American correspondent of the 
London Times, Mr. Cook seemed to grasp with peculiar aptitude the 
salient points of such matters as would naturally attract the attention of 
a stranger, and his letters were marked with a vigor and freshness most 
rare, and thoroughly unlike the usual paraphrase of the shilling guide- 
book imposed upon newspaper readers." — North American. 

"A series of letters which were widely read and greatly enjoyed; for 
he is not only a keen observer, but an excellent writer, and he had the 
tact to write fresh and lively accounts of scenes and places that had been 
written about by thousands before him." — Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. 

" One of the most instructive and best written books of travel that 
has of late been published in this country. . . . It is a book that states- 
men and tourists may read with profit." — Forney's Philadelphia Progress, 



For sale hy Booksellers generally, or will he sent, postpaid, on receipt 
of price hy the puhlishers, 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., 

715 and 717 Market St,, Philadelphia. 



BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES 



NEAR PHILADELPHIA. 



V 



DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF 

LETTERS WRITTEN FOR 

THE PUBLIC LEDGER 
DURING THE SUMMER OF 1881. 



BY 

JOEL COOK. 



''J. O." 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO 

18 82. 




V 






Copyright, 1881, by J. B. Lippincott & Co. 



^ 



.077 



INTEODTJOTIOK". 



Looking back over the files of the Ledger from the 
middle of June of this year to the end of August, em- 
bracing these " Brief Summer Rambles" as first presented 
to the public, it is easy to understand why so many letters 
have been received suggesting their publication in book 
form. The motive that prompted the sketches pervades the 
whole series. This was to remind our people how many 
pleasant places, how much picturesque scenery, how many 
delightful jaunts, how great a body of interesting annals and 
tradition and instructive history there are within a few hours' 
ride from the city by rail or river. This pervading idea is 
carried out consistently, completely, and with full success. 
With the exception of one short route, every railway and 
steamboat route radiating from Philadelphia is covered ; 
every one of the " Rambles" is within one day's ride from 
Philadelphia, most of them are within a few hours, and in 
many instances the pleasure-seeker can take his ramble and 
return home by evening to occupy his own room and bed, 
which is something to be taken into consideration. 

The sketches follow the usual routes of travel between the 
places embraced in the " Rambles," taking in the Delaware 
from the Water Gap to the sea, and every prominent sea- 
shore resort from Cape May to Coney Island ; every principal 
line of travel northeast, north, west, and south, from above 
West Point on the Hudson, southwest to Baltimore, along 



4 INTRODUCTION. 

the Lehigh Yalley, and west through Harrisburg to Pitts- 
burg. 

It is no longer necessary to say to the reading public that 
Mr. Cook, the writer of the sketches, has quick perception 
of what is attractive and interesting in the scenes and places 
through which he passes, and along which he carries his 
readers, and that he has a " faculty" for that kind of descrip- 
tive writing. His first book made many thousands acquainted 
with these talents. In this series he has done a rare good 
thing in the endeavor to make the public acquainted with 
the pleasures and information within their reach in short 
summer trips near home. 

W. Y. McKean, 

Editor ill Cliief. 

PcBLic Ledger Office, Philadelphia, 
October 24, 18S1. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGB 

I. Fairmount Park . . 7 

II. Laurel Hill 12 

III. The Wissahickon 17 

IV. Up the Delaware River to Trenton .... 22 
V. Atlantic City 31 

VI. Cape May 39 

VII. Down the Delaware River to the Lazaretto ... 44 

VIII. Down the Delaware River — Chester to the Bay . . 61 

IX. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Philadelphia to New York 66 

X. Long Branch 69 

XI. Long Branch's Neighbors — Monmouth Beach and Sea- 
bright — Asbury Park and Ocean Grove ... 78 
XII. New York Harbor — A Journey to Coney Island . .85 

XIII. Coney Island 92 

XIV. The Hudson River— New York to Stony Point . . 102 
XV. The Hudson River Highlands— Peekskill to Newburg . 113 

XVI. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Philadelphia to Baltimore 123 

XVII. Baltimore 131 

XVIII. The Reading Railroad— Philadelphia to New York- 
Trinity Church 140 

XIX. New York City— Broadway and Fifth Avenue . . 146 

XX. New York City— Central Park 153 

XXI. Brooklyn — The East River Bridge — Greenwood Ceme- 
tery — Prospect Park 158 

XXII. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Philadelphia to Lancaster 166 

XXIII. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Lancaster to Harrisburg 174 

XXIV. The Reading Railroad — Harrisburg to Philadelphia — 

Lebanon Valley— Schuylkill Valley . . . .178 
XXV. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Along the Susquehanna — 

A Railway Retrospect 185 

• XXVI. The Pennsylvania Railroad— The Juniata . . .193 
XXVII. The Pennsylvania Railroad— Altoona . . . .202 

XXVIII. The Bell's Gap Railroad 212 

1* 5 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

XXIX. The Pennsylvania Eailroad — Altoona to Cresson — 

Crossing the Alleglienies 218 

XXX. The Pennsylvania Eailroad — Cresson Springs — The 

Portage Road 223 

XXXI. The Pennsylvania Railroad — Cresson to Pittsburg . 230 

XXXII. The Reading Railroad— Philadelphia to Bethlehem . 238 

XXXIII. The Lehigh Valley Railroad— Mauch Chunk . . 244 

XXXIV. The Switchback 251 

XXXV. The Pennsylvania Railroad— Philadelphia to the Del- 
aware Water Gap 260 

XXXVI. The Delaware Water Gap— From Sunset Hill— From 

the River 268 

XXXVII. The Delaware Water Gap— The Foot-Paths . . 274 
XXXVIII. The Delaware Water Gap— Eureka Glen— The Cherry 

Valley — Stroudsburg — Reminiscences . . . 283 



BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 



I. 

FAIRMOUNT PAEK. 
A TOUR NEAR HOME. 

The summer beat is upon us, and where shall we go to 
keep cool ? Only a little while back people who could afford 
it were fleeing to Florida or Cuba in search of warm weather ; 
and now that they have got it at home they meditate another 
migration to find a lower temperature. Some hie to Europe, 
others to the Pacific coast, others to the lakes and mountains ; 
but the great majority cannot take such long journeys, and in 
fact have to confine their relaxation to short visits near home, 
occupying but a day or two, and costing comparatively little 
money. To these, though they may not always believe it, 
the short excursion generally gives more genuine enjoyment 
than the more pretentious and lengthened tour. A protracted 
period of sight-seeing often palls upon the tourist, but the 
brief jaunt freshens and exhilarates him. It is not necessary 
to go long journeys to find grand scenery and seek relaxation, 
for both can be cheaply got at our own doors. 

How many who praise Hyde Park and the Bois de Bou- 
logne have ever thoroughly explored Fairmount Park, or 
know that it has many more glories than either? Take a 
day to look at it, and see if this tour near home in the most 
extensive pleasure-ground in our country will not give the 
keenest enjoyment, even though it may only cost a few pen- 
nies for car and steamboat rides, and a trifle for refreshment. 
To thoroughly enjoy the Park tour only needs the conviction 
that something can be found there worth looking at. Let us 
start from one of the Fairmount entrances, and go along past 

7^ 



8 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the Art Gallery, where crowds are usually waiting their turns 
to see the Pompeiian views, up along the road to where it 
forks at the Lincoln Monument. On the left hand are the 
greensward and the river, and on the right the sloping hills, 
down which troops of children are nearly always rolling. 
Fountains plash on either side, while in front rises Lemon 
Hill, its base bordered with flower-beds. We enter the road 
along the river, with its stately rows of linden-trees and 
crowds of promenaders, its pretty boat-houses on the river- 
bank, and its hills and summer-house on the right-hand side. 
The water is rippled by the cool breeze, so different from the 
parched air just left behind us, and, as we round the rocky 
point at the river bend, a view is opened of the stately bridges 
in front of the Zoological Garden across the stream. Pass- 
ing through the tunnel and under the bridges, the sunshine 
on the bright roof of the Horticultural Building dazzles the 
eye as it traces out the majestic sweep of the western river 
bank at Sweetbrier and above. We leave the sparkling 
water, and, as the trains rush by on the two great railways of 
Philadelphia, one in front and the other almost over our 
heads, mount the hill and enter a pretty bit of woodland, 
with rhododendrons bordering the road. Soon we reach the 
reservoir and the region known as " Pipetown." Here, if so 
inclined, the art of " How not to do it" in pipe-laying may 
be studied, for these great pipes have lain here many-a-year, 
rusting away and serving as an occasional lodging-house for 
tramps. The unfinished reservoir rises beyond like a great 
fortress, to remind us how city debts can be piled up. But 
there is no use moralizing, and instead we will go along over 
the beautiful green west of the reservoir, and out to the 
river again at Mount Pleasant, to see the old house where 
Benedict Arnold once lived, and while getting a drink of 
milk join the curious crowd who are studying the mysteries 
of the " Dairy." Most of these people know that cows pro- 
duce milk, but they are in doubt as to how it is got out of 
the animal, some having an idea that a tail may be given a 
cow, not only to switch flies, but also to serve as a pump- 
handle. 

THE SCENE AT EDGELT. 

We are only two miles from Fairmount, but it is a para- 
dise apparently far away from any city, and as we go farther 



FAIRMOUNT PARK. 9 

on past Rockland and Ormiston the rural beauties increase. 
Crossing the pretty ravine and mounting the hill to Kdgely, 
little lunch- and picnic-parties are passed, camped out under 
the trees in cosey nooks, while the children run over the 
green grass and enjoy themselves. A short walk brings us 
to the brink of the river on top of the bluff at Edgely, and 
at an elevation of perhaps a hundred feet gives one of the 
most glorious views to be found near Philadelphia, — a gentle 
scene, that will please as well as the bolder scenery of more 
loudly-praised localities. The Schuylkill, as we look up- 
stream, curves around towards the left, with green hill-sides 
on either hand. Little boats dot the water, and an occa- 
sional steamer passes far beneath us laden with pleasure- 
seekers. Far off in the distance is the Falls village, with 
its railroad bridge, the arches making complete circles as they 
are reflected in the water, while above, the white steam puffs 
from what looks like a little toy locomotive, it is so far away. 
In the foreground the Park drive climbs Strawberry Hill, 
and beyond are the white tombs of Laurel Hill, embosomed 
in foliage. Serenely quiet, excepting where the silence is 
broken by the roar of a passing train, here is a lovely spot 
to rest and feed upon the glorious view. Across, on the 
opposite bank, the carriages, looking like insects, can be seen 
slowly creeping up the slope towards Chamounix. For per- 
fect rural beauty, with wood and water scenery, this cannot 
be excelled in its own character of subdued landscape any- 
where ; yet here it is, with its fame unsung, at our own 
doors. 

Reluctantly leaving this beautiful place let us go down 
Strawberry Hill to the road along the river-bank, where the 
fast trotters dart swiftly by us and the policemen have their 
hands full to prevent horse-racing. It is sultry usually along 
this low-lying road, for the hills keep off the breeze, and the 
perspiring visitor mournfully recalls last winter's ice gorge, 
when the great ice-cakes brought down by the freshet covered 
over most of this road and broke to pieces much of its pretty 
rustic fence. Above the precipitous rocks and hollowed out 
within them are the tombs of Laurel Hill, while young 
people romantically inclined seek jutting crags to sit upon, 
as a pretty young lady did whose blood-red umbrella almost 
dazzled me in the sunlight, as she sat far above, at the foot 



10 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

of a tree. We go along by the " willows" over a beautiful 
section of roadway, and under the arch of the railway bridge, 
past the regions of " catfish and waflSes," and the rocks in 
the river that once made the " Falls," but are now chiefly 
available as seats for the youths with fish-lines who wait 
patiently for "bites" they seldom get. Turning into the 
open wooden bridge we cross the river and study the delib- 
erate character of canal navigation, as viewed on the opposite 
shore, where the patient mules coax the boat-loads of coal 
down-stream to a market. In front a little brook comes 
down the hill and rushes over a cascade of rocks into the 
river. We mount the hill, passing through the woods and 
alongside the curved dam that is thrown across the brook, 
making a higher waterfall, and on top of the hill discover 
another glorious view. 

CHAMOUNIX AND GEORGE's HILL. 

Standing on this eminence the Reading Railroad, with its 
passing trains, is almost beneath our feet, and its coal-dust- 
marked roadway can be traced out in black lines far ofi" in 
both directions. Beyond is the river, with its bridges, and 
opposite is the thriving village of the Falls, — a city in minia- 
ture, looking like a lot of little models of houses, set up in 
rows on the hill-side, so that if one toppled over it would 
knock down the whole town like so many rows of bricks. 
To the right is Laurel Hill, a forest of snow-white monu- 
ments extending down the river until shut out by the edge 
of the picture. To the left, the Schuylkill stretches far 
away northward, past the densely-wooded ravine of the Wis- 
sahickon and its high bridge, while the tall chimneys of the 
Manayunk mills are shut in by a background of hazy hills 
in the distance. Fields, woods, and an occasional ornate 
villa make up the border to this pretty scene. This is 
Chamounix, — modest, it is true, when compared with its Swiss 
namesake, and much warmer in summer weather, for there 
is no snow on the peaks around, but its old house is in a 
picturesque spot. We are told that one of its owners, when 
forced to leave this beautiful place, died of a broken heart. 

Turning towards the city we pass along the hill-tops, Girard 
College being seen far away across the river, and also the 
brown sides of the reservoir, with Lemon Hill Observatory 



FAIRMOVNT PARK. 11 

apparently mounting guard as it stands out against the sky. 
Going over the farm-land, as yet unimproved, and past the 
little water-tanks, where the road-sprinklers get their supplies, 
a steady panorama of pretty views is unfolded on the Schuyl- 
kill. We skirt along the dilapidated fences bearing the signs 
that say " Horses taken to pasture," and coming out by 
Christ Church Hospital go to George's Hill. Here is a 
garden-spot, the shrubbery and flower-beds forming a proper 
frame for the beautiful view from the top of the Concourse. 
This hill gives the most extended scene in the Park, marred 
only by the absence of water scenery. Looking over the 
stately Total Abstinence Fountain in the foreground, and be- 
yond the Centennial Buildings, there is spread out the great 
city, with its subdued hum of industry, its myriad smokes from 
factory chimneys, and its distant border made by the hazy 
land of Jersey. On the green fields and mazy footwalks 
people are scattered like so many ants, creeping slowly about, 
singly or in twos and threes, while the swift- rushing locomo- 
tive and slow-moving horse-car, off to the right, indicate the 
different kinds of land navigation. Within the past ten 
years, the houses of the town have been steadily encroaching 
upon this grand view, and before long they will completely 
encircle George's Hill. 

BELMONT AND SWEETBRIER. 

Now let us descend the hill past St. George's House, Eng- 
land's Centennial gift to Philadelphia, and proceed towards 
the river again, reaching it at Belmont. Here, in the olden 
time. Judge Peters entertained the most famous men of his day, 
and, as they sat on his porch at Belmont Mansion and looked 
down the beautiful Schuylkill at the distant city, they thought 
it the most superb of views. Gradually the city came to- 
wards his farm, first throwing Columbia bridge across the 
river at his feet, then capturing his home for a pleasure- 
ground, and afterwards building the two bridges at Girard 
Avenue, which look so pretty in the distance, as the sheet of 
placid water spreads towards them, and the Cathedral dome, 
the new City Hall, and the Masonic Hall tower all rise above. 
Away off, over the town, the observer who is on a sufficient 
elevation can occasionally detect the white sails of vessels 
moving on the Delaware. But we must hasten on towards 



12 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the city, loitering a few minutes to see the Horticultural 
Building, with its tropical foliage and plants inside, and its 
pretty flower-gardens outside ; past the " Lovers' Eetreat" 
and "Lansdowne Ravine," with their shady footpaths, under 
the thick foliage, and the river view from the Lansdowne 
bridge. Still we hasten towards town, across the "Sweet- 
brier Yale," where the road winds down the hill on one side 
and up on the other, and where the children are supposed, 
from the sign, to have their playground, but where full-grown 
children are usually playing croquet. Over the bridge at 
Girard Avenue we go into the city with crowds of pedes- 
trians, heavily-laden cars, and quickly-moving carriages, and 
in along the Park road past the ''Mineral Spring," whose 
water is mildly suggestive of rusty nails and disused tomato- 
cans, but still is better-tasted, if not so famous, as the waters 
of Saratoga or Baden. We pass the little goat-wagons and 
flying-horses and swings, around which admiring children 
cluster, and the large beer-breweries beyond the Park boun- 
dary that attract the older folk, and, reaching the starting- 
point at Fairmount, the day's tour is over. 

Do not suppose that this exhausts the attractions of the 
Park. Weeks can be profitably occupied in its exploration 
on foot or horseback or in carriage. It constantly develops 
new beauties to him who searches them out, while for him 
who cannot spare the time or money for more extended rec- 
reation it presents an unfailing field for summer rambles near 
home. 



IL 

LAUEEL HILL. 
TO FAIR310TJNT AND BEYOND. 

There is a mournful yet pleasant attraction in a burial- 
ground for a large part of human kind. They seek its solace 
and solitude to meditate, to deck the graves of loved ones 
with flowers, and to commune with spirits that have gone be- 
fore. Every large city has its favorite burial-place, but none 



LAUREL HILL, 13 

a more famous one than Laurel Hill. Let us take to-day's 
ramble there. Thirty years ago a popular guide-book told 
the public how to get to Laurel Hill in these words : " The 
Third and Coates Street line of omnibuses leaves the Ex- 
change every eight minutes for Fairmount, where it connects 
immediately on Coates Street with Bender and Wright's 
Schuylkill boats for Mount Pleasant, Laurel Hill Cemetery, 
and Manayunk." Those omnibuses and those boats are no 
more. The horse-cars have superseded the one, and the 
Fairmount Steamboat Company's fine line of Schuylkill 
steamers the other. Then the Wire Bridge and the Fair- 
mount Water-Works were the two wonders of Phihidelphia, 
but both have been eclipsed by later bridges and improved 
pumping machinery. Then there was no Fairmount Park, 
and the Schuylkill flowed between banks that were the coun- 
try homes of opulent citizens. At Lemon Hill was Pratt's 
Garden, and the Zoological Garden was "Sohtude," once the 
country home of John Penn. The inclined plane, where the 
steam-cars from the west end of Columbia bridge were hauled 
up the hill by machinery to the Columbia Bailroad, was then 
in full operation. On the western shore, above Columbia 
bridge, and opposite Peters' Island, and now dwarfed by the 
Park offices near by, is the little stone cottage, with the over- 
hanging roof, where tradition says the poet Tom Moore lived 
when in Philadelphia. Tom Moore was here for ten days in 
the summer of 1804, and his ballad — 

" I knew by the smoke that so gracefully curled 
Above the green elms, that a cottage was near, 
And I said, 'If there's peace to be found in the world, 
A heart that was humble might hope for it here' " — 

is said to have been written at and about this cottage. His 
letters show that while he generally disliked most of our 
country as seen on his journey, he found an oasis of kind- 
ness in Philadelphia, and was delighted with Quaker City 
hospitality. He composed an ode to the Schuylkill, its nat- 
ural beauties having greatly impressed him, from which I 
quote the following : 

"Alone by the Schuylkill a wanderer roved, 

And bright were its flowery banks to his eye; 
But far, very far, were the friends that he loved, 
And he gazed on its flowery banks with a sigh ! 
2 



14 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

" The stranger is gone, — but he will not forget, 

When at home he shall talk of the toil he has known, 
To tell with a sigh what endearments he met, 
As he stray'd by the wave of the Schuylkill alone \" 



THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

The steamer stops just above, on the eastern bank, at 
Laurel Hill. Let us enter and walk about among its tombs 
and statues and monuments, the white marble, as the sun 
shines upon it, contrasting beautifully with the green grass 
and foliage. As in sympathy with the place we recall the 
history of the past, the memory goes back to the foundation 
of this cemetery forty-five years ago, and the ten years of 
struggling against ill fortune that were necessary to establish 
it. Before 1836, excepting in Ronaldson's Cemetery, the 
burials of our people were mainly in church-yards. Laurel 
Hill was the name of the estate at Edgely, on the Schuylkill, 
in the Park, a mile below, and this cemetery site was the 
country-seat of a prominent merchant in the olden time, 
Joseph Sims. His home was bought; the name of the 
estate at Edgely was given it; and this, in 1836, was the 
foundation of Laurel Hill Cemetery, now extended till it 
covers nearly a hundred acres. As we proceed through the 
cemetery there are seen the most beautiful views along the 
Schuylkill ; the winding walks and terraced slopes and ra- 
vines giving constantly-changing landscapes. Few burial- 
places in the world can compare with this ; and Greenwood, 
at Brooklyn, is its only superior. The Necropolis, at Glas- 
gow, built upon the hill-side, resembles Laurel Hill somewhat, 
but lacks the beauty of our clear atmosphere and the Schuyl- 
kill water views. Pere La Chaise, at Paris, the most famous 
of cemeteries, cannot compare with Laurel Hill in beauty, 
while the French system of interment is so difi'erent from 
ours, that its vaults, and little houses, and tinsel ornaments 
are totally unlike our mounded graves, white stones, and 
floral tributes. After moving about among the tombs, and 
getting glimpses of views over the river through the trees, 
we cross the pretty little bridge spanning the lane dividing 
the cemetery, and pass the mausoleums built into the hill- 
sides or upon the rocks. Some of these and some of the lot 
enclosures have been made at immense cost, rivalling in ex- 



LAUREL HILL. 15 

pensiveness, if not in ornamentation, the tombs of the Doges 
of Venice, that fill up so many of the churches in the Italian 
city. 

THE GRAVES AT LAUREL HILL. 

Here is the Disston Mausoleum, built on a jutting emi- 
nence, so that it can be seen miles away, and the placid river 
flows in front and far below, the green fields sloping up on 
the opposite bank in picturesque beauty. In front of this 
monument is one of those grand views along the Schuylkill, 
such as few public parks in other cities can present. The 
river curves around like a bow. To the southward and far 
off over the Columbia bridge are the Centennial Buildings, 
closing the scene in the hazy distance. To the northward 
are the pretty arches of the Falls bridge and the village be- 
yond. Many feet below us the carriages glide along the Park 
road on the edge of the water, and on the opposite bank a 
noisy railway train marks its flight by a long streak of black 
smoke. Far above the train, stands in solitude among the 
trees the lonely house on top of Chamounix hill. Continu- 
ing the walk a little farther up, the ponderous granite-work 
of lot enclosure is going on, occupying the labor of a de- 
tachment of stone-masons with derrick and catamaran, a task 
equal to building a house. The terraced walks here curve 
around like the rising banks of seats in a Roman amphi- 
theatre, the intermediate spaces filled with graves. Here, 
alongside of John Sergeant, is the modest tomb of General 
Meade. Away down by the river-bank, and in a plain un- 
marked sepulchre cut out of the solid rock, lies the Arctic 
explorer. Dr. Kane. A single shaft, on a little eminence 
near by, marks the grave of Charles Thomson, the Secretary 
of the Continental Congress. Just above this, a piece of 
rough rock bearing an urn and a stringless lyre tells on a 
little shield that there lies beneath all that remains of Joseph 
C. Neal, the " Charcoal Sketcher," one of the brightest 
journalists of a former generation. Walking farther north- 
ward the view along the river, above the Falls, opens, and 
here, in bronze, sits Cresson, the artist, who, though the in- 
scription says he was " a lover of art," could not have got- 
ten a better resting-place in which to study the beauties of 
nature. 



16 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

The cemetery is full of the graves of fiimous men of a 
former generation. Near the entrance a plain shaft marks 
the resting-place of Thomas Grodfrey, the inventor of the 
mariner's quadrant. Not far away is the tribute to Commo- 
dore Hull, whose Roman altar tomb is surmounted by the 
eagle which defends the American flag, with every expression 
of beak and talons. Hull commanded the " Constitution" 
and startled the world by her capture of the British frigate 
" Guerriere," in 1812. Adjacent a flat slab covers Chief 
Justice Thomas McKean. O^eneral Hugh Mercer is buried 
on the open space fronting the chapel, his remains having 
been removed here from Christ Church-yard, with unusual 
pomp, in 181:0, while the St. Andrew's Society erected the 
monument over the hero who fell at Princeton. Julius 
Friedlander, the founder of the Institution for the Blind, is 
interred beneath a plain monument. The graves of Fred- 
erick Graefi", the designer of the Fairmount Water-Works ; of 
Major Twiggs, who fell in the Mexican War; of Thomas 
Buchanan Read, the poet-artist ; and of William Bradford, 
are also in Laurel Hill, while near the latter the genial Louis 
A. Godey is entombed in a stately mausoleum. But of the 
thousands of well-known Philadelphians whose last homes 
are about us, there is not room in this hasty sketch to write. 
Loving hands deck their graves and keep their memories 
green. As we proceed there is ample chance to study the 
changes that a half-century has made in our system of grave 
decoration, and how the plain slab and tombstone have grad- 
ually developed into the magnificent mausoleums and monu- 
ments of to-day. The walk finally brings us to the northern 
limit of the cemetery, overlooking the Falls village, and one 
cannot help thinking of how many are lying in this beautiful 
place who, even while living, came here to select a favorite 
spot wherein to rest when dead. 

OLD MORTALITY. 

Turning to go out, we pause near the entrance, and find 
facing the gate Thom's " Old Mortality" group, under an or- 
namental temple. Here is the quaint old Scotchman reclin- 
ing on a gravestone and chipping out the half-eifiiced letters 
of the inscription, while the little pony patiently waits along- 
side him, for his master and Sir Walter Scott, who sits on 



THE WISSAHICKON. I7 

another tomb, to finish their discourse. Sir Walter and the 
pony are carved from American stone quarried near New- 
ark, while the old pilgrim on the grave came from Scotland. 
The group is an appropriate decoration, and were it in Edin- 
burgh how the Scots would treasure it ! Not long ago the 
voritable " Old Mortality" of Laurel Hill was gathered unto 
his fathers. The venerable John Conway, who had been em- 
ployed there almost since the opening of the cemetery, and 
who had become an octogenarian in its service, passing his 
declining years in wandering about, scythe in hand, like 
Father Time, fixing up and improving the graves in this 
beautiful home of the dead, finally succumbed last May like 
all of us must. He is to-day laid among the thousands at 
whose funerals he had for nearly a half-century assisted. 



III. 

THE WISSAHICKON. 

A PLEASANT MORNING RIDE. 

Let us start on a bright morning and drive out Broad 
Street behind a pair of nimble white horses. North Broad 
Street looks like a reduced edition of the Paris Champs Ely- 
sees Avenue with its ornamental gardens and fine residences, 
and the borders of bright green trees. The house-servants, 
in true Philadelphia style, are splashing the water over the 
pavements and watching furtively for the policeman who may 
have a regard for the city ordinance that ought to stop the 
deluge at seven a.m., but sometimes don't. We go past Monu- 
ment Cemetery and turn westward on Park Avenue, which 
gives a good view, though at some distance, of the Washing- 
ton and Lafayette Monument. This street runs through a 
region that not long ago was almost entirely the domain of 
nomadic tribes of goats and geese, but is now to a great ex- 
tent built up with rows of comfortable houses. It is, however, 
very rough riding at present on Park Avenue. The relics 
of the wooden pavement are full of holes, here and there 
6 2* 



18 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

patched with stones, giving plenty of exercise which may be 
good for digestion, but is uncomfortable. Droves of lazy 
pigs are coming into town taking up the entire street and 
sidewalks, as these useful animals usually do, and cows ru- . 
minate among the ash-heaps on the vacant lots, endeavoring 
to find an excuse from the occasional patches of grass to give 
" pure country milk." We soon reach the regions of the 
dead, through which the effort is making to have Park Ave- 
nue opened, and, it is to be hoped, decently paved. We pass 
the Odd-Fellows' and Mechanics' Cemeteries, and, turning 
into Ridge Avenue, the Glenwood. This leads to a semi- 
rural region, where buildings are scattered about, with plenty 
of intervening space for more, and where the stone-cutters 
and florists — attracted by the cemeteries — are numerous. 
Leaving the East Park, with its pretty hedges of japoniea, we 
pass Laurel Hill and Mount Vernon Cemeteries, and go 
through the busy Falls village, devoted to carpet-weaving. 

A MINIATURE ALPINE GORGE. 

We are taking this ride to seek the Wissahickon, which 
has been not inaptly termed a section cut from Switzerland. 
This ravine lies between Leverington and Koxborough on 
the one hand, and Germantown, Mount Airy, and Chestnut 
Hill on the other. If this gorge were near Boston every 
New England poet would go wild over it, and, were it really 
located in Switzerland, Philadelphia pilgrims who never ven- 
ture near it now would feel in duty bound to take it in as 
part of the "grand tour." Leaving the Falls village, we 
turn in from the edge of the Schujdkill, alongside the attrac- 
tive picnic-ground at Riverside Park, and go under the un- 
couth railroad high bridge, elevated one hundred feet above 
us, with the extra sets of wooden trestles and stone buttresses, 
a construction of sometimes doubted strength, but always cer- 
tain ugliness, which it is gratifying to know is soon to be 
replaced by a substantial new stone bridge. Rounding a 
sharp rocky corner, we are at once amid the beauties of the 
Wissahickon ravine. Roads wind along on either side of 
the still waters, between high wooded hills, clad as nature 
made them. The first bend of the stream discloses a pretty 
view, with row-boats on the water, but the banks are almost 
deserted, for it is morning, and few carriages or pedestrians 



THE WISSAHICKON. 19 

have yet come out. Halting at Maple Spring, a look is taken 
at the late Joseph Smith's strange museum. Mr. Smith, who 
died at the ripe old age of eighty-one, about two years ago, 
had a genius for fantastic carving. Out of the roots of the 
laurel, which produce such tortuous shapes, he has fashioned 
every imaginable strange figure and caricature of beast, bird, 
and reptile, and made a museum which is one of the curi- 
osities of the country. He had wonderful skill in taking a 
laurel-root, detecting a fantastic resemblance, and then, with 
very little change in its original shape, making it the repre- 
sentative of a living or imagined thing. This museum con- 
tains the most remarkable collection of devils thus made, in- 
cluding the representative devils of all countries. Mr. and 
Mrs. Beelzebub sit on either hand, and their son is riding a 
galloping horse. There are monkeys, birds, rats, snakes, ele- 
phants' heads and trunks, the heads of prominent men, and 
all of them are the original and scarcely-changed roots. The 
place is full of such fancies, some fashioned into picture-frames 
or flower-baskets, and to each of the curiosities this professor 
of "rootology" attached a quaint and amusing history. His 
museum at Maple Spring remains just as he left it, and is 
one of the attractions of the Park. Behind the house pours 
down, in steady stream, the pure spring-water that gives the 
place its name. 

THE HERMIT OF THE WISSAHICKON. 

Resuming the journey up the ravine, we come to the " Old 
Log Cabin Bridge," which, with its attendant wild scenery, 
has been for many years the subject of the artist's pencil. 
Near by a lane leads to the " Hermit's Pool," where the ec- 
centric "Hermit of the Wissahickon," John Kelpius, almost 
two centuries ago, dug his well and made his home ; preached 
to his disciples of the near approach of the Millennium ; and 
finally, casting his magical "wisdom-stone" into the stream, 
died in 1704, to the great relief of his Quaker neighbors, 
who did not relish such alchemy in close proximity to the 
city of Penn. The region is a weird spot, and the old hotel 
near the Log Cabin bridge, that was in former days the resort 
of such lively parties, has many a pleasant memory for its 
visitors. It has been swept away by the progress of Park 
improvements, but its frequenters will not soon forget the in- 



20 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

genuity with which the landlord increased his trade by keep- 
ing a sheepish-looking bear chained to a tree, with a sign — 

" This bear drinks sarsaparilla." 
"N.B. — Sarsaparilla sold at the bar." 

That bear became the most expert cork-drawer of his time, 
but he must have succumbed as a martyr to too much drink. 

The stream winds between its rocky, wooded banks, the 
water rippling over the stones, and just above, the gorge 
makes a right-angled bend, the road going over a stone bridge, 
near which a couple of fishermen were waiting for a long- 
delayed nibble. The creek must, by this time, be almost 
fished out, yet there are rumors of an occasional gold-fish 
being caught. We cross the " Little Red Bridge," which is 
constructed much after the pattern of Noah's Ark, and con- 
tinue up the western bank. The view broadens somewhat 
as the top of the gorge widens, and but for the absence of 
snow-capped peaks you might almost imagine yourself in a 
Swiss valley, instead of a few miles out of Philadelphia. 
Long vistas open occasionally as the gorge bends, while the 
creek narrows as we ascend. The water ripples down the 
cascades and makes plenty of noise. Little streams fall in, 
and at intervals a break in the woods discloses a field with 
cattle pasturing on the hill-side. Were the Wissahickon in 
Europe it would be dignified with the name of a river, and 
it really brings down more water than many a famous river 
of the Old World. It is probably about the only stream of 
its size in the United States whose navigation improvement 
is not taken care ©f by Congress in the River and Harbor 
Bill. 

INDIAN ROCK AND GERMANTOWN. 

We ride under the pipe bridge that was thrown across the 
gorge about ten years ago to carry water from Roxborough to 
Germantown, and which, with its inverted arches, looks as if 
turned upside down, and see another red bridge, with only 
about two-thirds the usual allowance of roof, the wind hav- 
ing blown the rest away. Passing the Valley Green, where 
ducks paddle about under the trees, and a pretty single-arch 
stone bridge spans the stream, we go by the paper mills, the 
life of that manufacture being clear water. The gorge still 
lengthens out before us as we move on steadily up-hill and 



THE WISSAHICKON. 21 

pass the Indian Rock. Here tradition tells of a romantic 
Indian maiden — name unknown — who jumped from away 
up on the side of the gorge — date not mentioned — and buried 
her sorrows in the water far below. I tell the harrowing 
tale as it was told to me, although unable to verify the story. 
Thus the gorge continues up to Chestnut Hill, beyond which 
the creek flows through meadow-land before it enters the 
ravine. The many springs and little streams that come out 
on the sides of the gorge give a plentiful supply for drinking- 
fountains and water-tanks. Below Indian llock, about thirty 
3"ears ago, kind hands set up an attractive little fountain on 
the rocky roadside, and inscribed it " Pro Bono Publico," 
with the noble wish, expressed at its base, " Esto Perpetua." 
The moss-covered rocks and overhanginoj trees make this 
perpetual spring a cool resort in sweltering weather. 

Turning back and crossing the stone bridge, we toil labori- 
ously up the hill, out of the ravine. The road is rough and 
needs improvement. Wissahickon Avenue thus winds up 
through another pretty gorge, with a little stream rippling 
down alongside. This very bad thoroughfare brings us to 
Mount Airy, and we turn towards the city. The German- 
town Avenue paving is in this portion better cared for than 
it used to be, but is still imperfect. Going southeast past 
the ancient Mermaid Inn, we entered picturesque Germantown, 
with its charming villas interspersed with old-time houses. 
Heavy teams toil along the dusty road, showing that, in spite 
of railways, wagon traffic still supplies a large section of the 
northern suburbs. Striking the Belgian pavement in upper 
Germantown, the carriage rolls smoothly along the car-tracks, 
and it can be remarked how much this place looks like an 
English provincial town, with its stone and stucco houses, 
peaked roofs and gables, and the comparative scarcity of red 
brick buildings. The frequent trees beautify the avenue, 
and with the villas make it attractive. We pass various old 
and famous houses, not to forget the Chew mansion and the 
Germantoion Telegraph office, with Major Freas's fruit gar- 
den alongside ; the pretty little ivy-entwined church, and 
the public school, with the yardful of playing children, and 
ride down the hill towards Nicetown, where the Midvale 
Steel-Works, off to the right, are making a terrible smoke. 
Then, under the two open railway bridges, where locomotives 



22 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

rush over us, and, for a moment, frighten the horses. Below 
Nicetown we turn into the very dusty race-track known as 
North Broad Street, on which the festive horsemen exercise 
their ponies, and the rest of the travellers bewail the want 
of water-sprinklers and good paving. Coming into town the 
morninij: ride is ended. 



IV. 

UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 
A STEAMBOAT JOURNEY. 

There is no summer recreation more pleasant than a ride 
on the river. It is healthful and invigorating, and the cool 
breezes of a trip over the water have been known to preserve 
life. Many a mother has saved her sick child by taking it 
a steamboat ride. The Delaware gives especial opportunity 
for this, and we will take our recreation to-day by a ride up the 
river. Several fine steamers are ready to carry us, — the " Co- 
lumbia," the " Twilight," the " Edwin Forrest," and others, and 
we will take the "Forrest," for it goes the farthest, all the way 
to Trenton, forty miles by water, though much less by land. 
The scenery of the Delaware, above Philadelphia, is attractive 
for every one who likes beautiful shores lined with villas, 
pretty woods, and cultivated fields, but the banks are usually 
low, scarcely rising into prominence excepting at Florence 
Heights. The frequent bends and coves and little towns give 
it many charms, and the river excursions are always popular. 

The steamboat " Edwin Forrest," at Arch Street wharf, after 
considerable commotion among the other steamers clustering 
around the wharf, and some piercing shrieks from steam- 
whistles, goes out into the stream and turns her prow north- 
ward. Captain Cone directs her movements in the pilot- 
house forward, on top of which stands Forrest himself, as 
the Indian chief Metamora, aiming his musket ahead of the 
steamboat. She glides swiftly along, past the vessels at the 
piers, the acres of lumber-yards in the neighborhood of- 



UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 23 

Poplar and Shackamaxon Streets, and the nest of iron-mills 
and ship-building yards at Kensington, where the clouds of 
black smoke give evidence of a big business. At Cramp's 
yard and above a dozen vessels are building and repairing, 
lor here is the Philadelphia hospital for sick steamers, while 
over on the Jersey shore, at Cooper's Point, they have a 
similar infirmary for disabled schooners. The river sweeps 
grandly around towards the northeast, as the boat runs be- 
tween Port Piichmond and Petty's Island, with the black 
coal-wharves and a forest of loading vessels' masts passing in 
review on the left hand, and the huge new grain elevator 
towering up above, a landmark for the whole river front. In 
midstream, dredges are deepening the channel so that large 
vessels can easier get in and out the Port llichmond docks, 
as an enormous trade is developing here. Farther on are 
the gas-works, with long trestles extending out to the water's 
edge for coal-landing, this being one of the institutions where 
favored local statesmen are employed at snug salaries and 
easy hours to " wheel out smoke." Over on the Jersey 
shore, nestling among the trees in the cove above Cooper's 
Point, is the Tammany Fish- House, where they make scien- 
tific investigations of the seductive liquid known as " Fish- 
Ilouse punch." The shores are low on either bank, and 
approaching Bridesburg we cross "Five- Mile Bar," where 
the shallow water impedes navigation and needs government 
attention. Bridesburg is low-lying, with its houses and arsenal 
half covered with trees, while above them tower Fitler's 
new cordage-mills, an immense structure, with an unfinished 
smoke-stack, looking not unlike some grand cathedral in the 
distant view. The attractive water-works building is near by 
on the river-bank. 

TACONY AND TORRESDALE. 

On the stream are long tows of coal-barges, bound to and 
from the canals at Bristol and Bordentown. At least a dozen 
will be dragged behind a sad-looking, slow-moving, but pow- 
erful towboat, while others cluster around the little tugs that 
puflF along in lively fashion. Occasionally a lazy sailing craft 
tacks across the channel, and makes the steamboat change 
her course to get out of the way. Bridesburg gradually dis- 
solves into Tacony, with the extensive improvements made 



24 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

by the Disstons ; and here is seen the once busy but now 
almost idle wharf and station where formerly the New York 
passengers were transferred between boat and train. Next 
the huge House of Correction rises on the left hand, while 
on the opposite shore is the pretty town of Riverton, with its 
attractive villas on the river-bank. The House of Correc- 
tion farm extends for a mile along the shore, a series of 
well-kept lawns, gardens, and fields, with an occasional bit of 
woodland. Above this the boat approaches and stops at 
Torresdale. This is one of the most beautiful spots on the 
Delaware, villas lining the shore, with neat lawns under the 
trees, and the green bank abruptly sloping down to the 
water's edge, where nearly every place has its boat-house, 
some of them quite ornamental structures. Little boys are 
dabbling in the water, over the sides of little boats, and you 
feel like escaping from the boat by jumping in beside them 
and then creeping up the bank to lie under the trees. The 
lucky people who live there can look across at the Jersey shore, 
where the Eancocas comes in between its low mud-banks, 
and far up this creek can see the railway drawbridge, where 
once a train plunged through and killed a large part of its 
passengers. Above the Rancocas are Riverside and Delanco, 
and a succession of attractive country-seats line both shores. 
On the Pennsylvania side is Andalusia, with the Chestnut 
Grove excursion-ground back of the landing. 

BEVERLY, BURLINGTON, AND BRISTOL. 

Soon we come to one of the most popular Jersey towns on 
the river, Beverly, around which the Delaware winds beauti- 
fully, the wharf being on a point jutting out into the stream, 
while above is as perfect a cove as the eye can find, the villas 
and sloping green banks giving evidence of the wealth and 
taste of their owners. On the upper part of the cove the 
blufi" shore rises a little, and here (the river-men say) live 
the " high-toners" of Beverly, their settlement being known 
as Edgewater. They are evidently people of good taste, 
both in their selection of homes and their adornments. 
Beverly used to be " Dunk's Ferry," while Edgewater was 
" Woodlane," and there still live Jerseymen who have sucked 
straws at its former cider-press, and as they did so looked 
over the river at the mouth of the broad Neshaminy. Tho 



UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 25 

river-banks wind on both sides, making a succession of pretty 
coves, and as we ascend, the stream gradually narrows, be- 
coming quite contracted as the steamboat approaches Bur- 
lington, a town apparently almost hidden by the trees. On 
the Pennsylvania shore is a smooth beach, the location of the 
old Badger Shad Fishery. Above this the river broadens, 
forming two channels around Burlington Island, the town of 
Burlington being on the right hand, and Bristol over in a 
cove on the left, with the low wooded shore of the island 
between. Burlington is a thickly-built town, extending some 
distance along the river, and having several boat-landings. 
It has a ferry to Bristol, with a little odd-looking ferry-boat. 
As we approached, this craft with its thin smoke-pipe on one 
side was steaming across the river. Our steamer landed 
some passengers and freight, and then followed the little 
ferry-boat over to Bristol, which is clustered along the cove, 
with a standpipe rising above the trees at the upper end, and 
quite a number of old-time houses on the bank, while at the 
lower part of the town the Delaware Division Canal comes 
out to the river, bringing its traflSc down from the Lehigh 
coal region. As we neared the landing, the powerful tow- 
boat '' Bristol" was making a long sweep around with its trail 
of at least a dozen empty barges, getting them into position 
to enter the canal. Mill Creek comes into the Delaware at 
Bristol, and the town is one of the most ancient on the 
river. It was the first county-seat of Bucks County, the 
original court-house having been built of logs, and replaced 
by a brick building as early as 1705. Its St. James' E[ns- 
copal Church was built in 1712 and its Quaker meeting- 
house in 1714. The river-bank above Bristol has been much 
improved of late years by the erection of new houses, so 
that now it is quite picturesque. Here begin the broad acres 
of the Landreth seed-farm, at Bloomsdale, which extends along 
the Pennsylvania shore for a great distance, and back from the 
river as far as the eye can see. The farm covers, I am told, 
six hundred acres, and presents a succession of fine houses 
and gardens, beautiful foliage and fruit-trees, and highly cul- 
tivated fields. 

CAMDEN AND AMBOY. 

The Delaware Biver, as we all know, is not a very straight- 
Above here it makes a sudden bend to the 
3 



26 BRIEF SIMMER RAMBLES. 

right, changing from northwest to northeast, and beginning 
a series of gyrations that continue for miles. Across a tongue 
of land the smokes of Trenton can be seen scarcely four miles 
awaj, yet the crooked river makes us almost turn our backs 
upon it and pursue a tortuous course of fourteen miles to 
reach the town. Here are the Hellings' ice-houses for fruit 
storage and preservation, and just above Dr. Morwitz, of the 
German Democrat^ has a country home, where he retires to 
meditate the purchase of more newspapers to add to the large 
number he already possesses. Tullytown is in the distance, 
and some of its people came out to the river to see the steam- 
boat stop at the little wharf. Opposite, the river's sharp bend 
is made around Florence Point aud its foundry, while above, 
the bluffs along the shore gradually rise into Florence E eights, 
once a noted excursion-ground, but now eclipsed by more 
modern resorts. The Pennsylvania shore, above Tullytown, 
is that region of fine farms and high cultivation known as 
Penn's Manor, and the locality where his country-house for- 
merly stood is still pointed out, near the river-bank. This 
house was a marvel in its day ; it covered sixty by forty feet, 
and Penn resided in it in 1700 and 1701. until he left for 
England. He never returned to America, and before the 
Eevolution the house, which had fallen into decay, was taken 
down. Before the beginning of the present century the 
entire estate at Penn's 31anor had been sold out of the Penn 
family. 

Droves of cows and calves come down to the water's edge 
at Florence landing, and the cove above is filled with lumber 
rafts. The Heights rise up apparently like a small mountain, 
the shores we have passed being so low. Above here the 
river widens and becomes very shallow, the channel being 
close to the Jersey shore. On these shallows fine ice is har- 
vested, and the Knickerbocker Company has put up large 
icehouses on the banks to store it. Here the broad Kiukora 
Creek comes in, where, in the days anterior to railroads, the 
boat transferred the New York passengers to the stages that 
took them across Jersey. A remnant of the old wharf still 
remains. The river again becomes narrow, and around a 
bend to the left is seen White Hill, on the Jersey shore, a 
busy place in years gone by, for here are the abandoned Cam- 
den and Amboy Railroad shops stretching along the bai>k 



UP THE DELAWARE RIVER. 27 

with the railroad alongside them. Their occupation has been 
gone since the Pennsylvania Railroad's assumption of the 
New Jersey lines, but they are to be uiven new life by other 
parties as a locomotive-works. A bluff shore rises behind 
the shops, and at White Hill landing, as we stopped a mo- 
ment, a little girl on a canal-boat was engaged in hanging out 
the family wash, while a boy stood by with his hands in his 
pockets, possibly wondering whether he might not get a suf- 
ficient start in life on that canal-boat to become a second 
Garfield. 

Just above the White Hill shops Crosswick's Creek flows 
into the Delaware, making a pretty depression between the 
hills, with the steeples of Bordentown seen up the creek in 
the distance. On the left hand rises the bold shore of Bona- 
parte's Park, while on both sides of the creek the railway 
runs, up to that odd station at Bordentown, where the cars 
for Amboy go under the ancient railway office and the street 
in front. This was a famous place in the olden time. The 
railway magnates assembled there to rule the Commonwealth 
that our ancestors called the "State of Camden and Amboy," 
and here with their through lines running under the old 
house in which they met, they controlled the politics of New 
Jersey and declared magnificent dividends. I remember 
attending a Camden and AriJ3oy annual meeting when a boy, 
on the day when the news arrived from England by steamer 
of the result of the ftimous Heenan and Sayres prize-fight, 
an event in which America took much interest. The train 
with the New York papers ran under the house, and an ex- 
cited railway magnate getting a copy of the New York Herald., 
the proceedings were suspended while he read the account of 
the fight. But the glory has departed from the old house 
over the station. Its people no longer puU the Jersey rail- 
road wires. 

DIFFICULT NAVIGATION. 

At Crosswick's Creek the Delaware and Raritan Canal begins 
its course, running up alongside the river to Trenton, and 
then across Jersey to New Brunswick, This is one of the 
gTeat canals of the countr}'', carrying a heavy tonnage, cliiefly 
of coal, and forming the inside water route between Phila- 
delphia and New York. The railway that runs along the 



28 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

canal-bank was formerly the great route of travel between 
the two cities, but it is now superseded by the shorter line 
crossing the Delaware at South Trenton. Dredges are en- 
deavoring to improve the canal entrance, and have done good 
work below, but do not seem to have accomplished much 
above, where one was at work when we passed. The river- 
shores here are low, and we came in sight of Trenton at the 
shallow place, about three miles below the town, known as 
Periwig Island Bar. Here there is not over two and a half 
feet depth at low water, and to get over these shallows, the 
*' Edwin Forrest" has to make her voyages according to the 
tides, timing her movements so as to reach Trenton just at 
high water. She does not draw over five feet, yet, to get 
through this difiicult place, she has to slow speed and make 
zigzag turns. There has been considerable work done here 
at dredging, but it does not see^i to have accomplished much 
permanent good, as the ice in winter sweeps back the gravel 
dredged out of the channel and deposited on the adjacent 
shore. The passage through which the steamer can go ia 
barely eighty feet wide, requiring careful navigation. Last 
winter the ice jammed on this bar, and when the spring 
freshet came down it made a new channel across Penn'a 
Manor, the water coming out near Tullytown. The twist- 
ing river, with its pretty shores, makes attractive scenery 
below Trenton, and by a bend to the right the railway bridge 
across the Delaware is opened up. We pass Morris Island, 
a favorite excursion-ground for Trenton, and go through 
clear water over a rocky bottom, where, in the season, they 
catch most delicious shad, better than in the less pure waters 
below. Trenton appears a low-lying town, with a few steeples 
showing up above the pretty little Riverview Cemetery on 
the right hand, and on the Pennsylvania shore is Morrisville, 
named after Eobert Morris, who had his country home there, 
while it was also for three years the place of exile of the 
French General Moreau. Big rafts float along, interfering 
with the steamboat movements in the narrow channel. Huge 
iron- and steel-works line the river-bank, above which and 
almost up to the railroad bridge is the wharf where the 
journey stops. We laud with the other passengers ; freight 
comes off and goes on ; a new lot of travellers embark, in- 
cluding an itinerant band with harp, hand-organ, and monkey j 



UP THE DELAWARE RIVI^R. 29 

the steamboat swings around, and soon starts off on her trip 
back to Philadelphia. 

TUE NEW JERSEY CAPITAL. 

Trenton is a thriving city, and will repay a visit. The 
Assunpink Creek divides it into two sections, and it was one 
of the earliest settlements of this part of the country, as old 
as Philadelphia, and named after William Trent, a Jersey law- 
maker one hundred and fifty years ago. Historically it is 
fiimous for its battle-ground, now built over to such an extent 
as to seriously interfere with the periodical sham battles of 
Trenton, with which the patriotic in these parts revive Pvevo- 
lutionary memories. At the last one, the " Hessians," it was 
noticed, wore the finest clothes and won the most applause. 
Trenton at present is best known for her Legislature's skill 
in saving Jerseymen from taxes, and for her potteries. As 
New Jersey controls the great line of travel between Phila- 
delphia and New York, the trafiic across the State supports 
the State Grovernment, pays most of the State expenses, and 
has preserved the Commonwealth almost without debt. We 
may smile at the " Spaniard," but we pay liim toll in the 
form of " transit dues" every time w^e cross the State to New 
York, and he feeds us from his market- gardens, while we 
eat the victuals on chinaware which usually originates in 
Trenton, though sometimes bearing marks that look as if 
it came across the sea. Going about the attractive town, 
so much of which is made up of fine houses with front gar- 
dens, it looks as if potteries, with their conical kilns, had 
been dropped down at random, and as if we were in a section 
of Holland, there are so many canals to cross. The Dola- 
ware and Karitan Canal and its feeders manage to make 
almost every street cross them on little swing drawbridges 
wdiich quickly open to let the barges pass. The potteries do 
a heavy business. There are over twenty of them, some 
very large, and they make the chinaware of^ ordinary char- 
acter that is found in every house. The town is built over 
beds of clay, and it is no wonder that they can thus dig out 
of the soil of New Jersey the materials to make three-fourths 
of the entire crockery manufacture of the country, and can 
themselves roll up an annual product worth several millions. 
The English potters have settled here extensively, and, in 



30 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

some places, they also do the finest deconition. At Dean's 
rooms, fine speeimens of decoration on imported porcelain 
are to be seen, but the artists are all French and English. 
In fact, the whole pottery trade for which Trenton is noted 
seems a section of Europe, set down on our domestic clay- 
beds, to reproduc-e here the goods which merchants once 
brought over the ocean, but c-an now get at home. 

CUuton Street, in Trenton, is a very fine avenue, with 
attractive houses on either side, and an excellent pavement. 
The Model School buildings are on this street, near where 
the " Swiuup Angel" cannon, once so destmetive at Charles- 
ton, is now doing peaceful duty as an ornament for a drink- 
ing fountain. On State Street is the new p«>st-office. which 
Uncle Sam has recently built at a cost of a half-million, 
and the old State House, where the Legislature meets to 
devise methods of making somebody else support the State 
s^jvernment. This building fronts the street, with grounds 
running back to the river, here a shallow stream, its bed filled 
-with rocks and boulders, while farther up State Street is a 
succession of ornate residences, with ample grounds extend- 
ins to the river^shore, A few hours spent in going about 
this city will disclose a thriving community, and then, as the 
dav wears away, we are ready to return home. The home- 
ward journey can be made by steamboat, as we c:ime, or by 
either of t^e railroads. We will take the Pennsylvania line, 
which treats us to the novelty of running under the c-anals 
I instead of going over the water as is usually done), and 
then crosses the Delaware by the great iron bridge. This 
homeward journey demonstrates the superiority in time of 
railwavs over water navigation. The lovely steamboat ride 
up the Delaw:ire took three hours and a half; the railway 
brought us home in fony minutes. 



ATLANTIC CITF. 31 



V. 

ATLANTIC CITY. 

A RIDE ACROSS JERSEY. 



It has not been many years since New Jersey for a broad 
space inside of the sandy coast-line consisted of pine barrens, 
ahnost uninhabited, excepting by the useful but lonely char- 
coal burner. Excluding the pines that grew upon them, 
there could not have been found a better representation of a 
veritable Sahara than these sandy wastes. But the indomi- 
table spirit of enterprise is fast reclaiming the desert, and 
thrifty settlements, like oases, are springing up all over it. 
The establishment of Atlantic City was soon followed by the 
opening of the Camden and Atlantic Railroad, and this, 
bringing a stream of travel through what before was an 
almost unknown region, was the beginning of a tidal-wave 
towards the seaside that now requires three railroads for its 
accommodation. The opening of the " Jersey Pines" led 
settlers to seek out the rich soils that were formerly almost 
unknown, and now the railways are dotted with settlements. 
After passing the broad belt of garden-land bordering the 
Delaware, the ride across Jersey to the sea is hardly now the 
wearying task it used to be. The trains rush through in 
ninety minutes. After leaving Haddonfield and its broad 
acres of luxuriant cultivation. Lakeside Park and its pretty 
excursion-ground are passed. Here a little paradise has been 
made, where many thousands go for a day's summer recrea- 
tion. The pretty lake, covering nearly thirty acres, gives a 
chance for bathing, fishing, and boating, and the sailing pleas- 
ures are so much sought that the railway rents out the 
boating privilege for fifteen hundred dollars a year. East 
of this was formerly the dreary, dusty waste of pines, but 
they now are broken up by the settlements, and ultimately, 
if the present process goes on, will practically disappear. Im- 
mense regions have been cleared for cultivating, and thrifty 
farmers, and fruit- and vine-growers now have possession of 



32 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

tliem. To the energy of the American has been added the 
perseverance of the German, Swiss, and Swede; and Ham- 
monton. Egg Harbor City, Yineland, Ell wood, May's Land- 
ing, and a dozen other places are known the country over as 
successful agi'icultural settlements rescued from the Jersey 
pines by thrift and hard work. Here grow fruits, berries, 
and wines ec^ual to any of their class produced anywhere else. 
New York and Philadelphia eat them and drink them ; and 
the New York gourmand, as he smacks his lips over some of 
the luscious wines set before him at Gotham's palatial res- 
taurants, labelled as from the Rhine and Moselle, does not 
know that Egg Harbor produced them, and that the German 
label on the bottle is — not to put too fine a point upon it — a 
mistake of the printer. In fact, the greatest wine compe- 
tition of the world — that of the Paris Exposition of 1878 — 
gave to Julius Hencke, of Egg Harbor, the highest prize for 
his wines. Thus is the Jersey Sahara being successfully 
reclaimed. 

THE CITY BY THE SEA. 

Let us go for our summer ramble to-day across New Jersey 
to the seacoast, to the watering-place that draws the sea- 
seeking crowd from Philadelphia as Brighton does from Lon- 
don. Three railroads lead to it, and four ferries across the 
Delaware feed them. Excepting Coney Island, no American 
watering-place — in fact, no seacoast resort in the world — 
attractsthe masses like Atlantic City. Even Brighton itself, 
though it fills up at times with boarders, does not draw the 
excursionists like this city by the sea. Over thirteen thou- 
sand excursionists have gone there in one day, and the sum- 
mer population at times reaches the large figure of forty 
thousand. In the height of the season the anxiety to go is 
such that often it taxes the railway facilities to the utmost, 
though these f icilities arc continually being increased. C>n 
some days not only has every car of every description been 
used, with benches put up in freight-cars, but trains have 
gone out with people standing in aisle and on platforms, and 
some even on top of the cars. How a hot Saturday empties 
out Philadeljihia seaward can be realized only by those who 
watch the ferries and the cars. Atlantic City is built on 
Absecom Beach, a low strip of sand thi\t extends about ten 



ATLANTIC CITV. 33 

miles along the coast, north of Egg Harbor, the town being 
on the northern end of the beach. A narrow inlet north of 
tliis divides it from Brigantine Beach and the adjacent islands, 
while across Egg Harbor, to the southward, is the new settle- 
ment on Peck's Beach, known as Ocean City. It is the in- 
tention to extend railway facilities all along both beaches, 
connecting them by a ferry or a drawbridge across the Inlet 
at Atlantic City, and by establishing a ferry between the 
south end of Absecom Beach and Ocean City. Of the chain 
of seacoast settlements along the Jersey ocean-shore, this, as 
it is now the most populous, seems destined to continue the 
most popular, and these railway facilities, with individual 
enterprise, will constantly extend it. 

When the train rushes out of the region of the pines to 
the marshes that border the coast, and the heat and dust are 
suddenly replaced by the burst of cool, refreshing moist air, 
laden with the aroma of the sea, the effect is delicious. The 
three railways, side by side, run across these meadows, and 
the passenger looks out of the car-windows over the vast 
level, treeless region, to wonder whether somebody has not 
dug out with a spade the accurately squared and straight- 
edged little water-basins, scattered everywhere over it. Then 
away off on the left hand he sees Atlantic City, a dim and 
distant mass of low-lying buildings, with an occasional tower 
or spire raised above the rest. The approach across these 
meadows is very like the approach to Venice, where the sin- 
gle railway that connects it with Italy is constructed on a 
causeway over similar salt marshes, and the domes and stee- 
ples of the town can be seen afar off over the treeless region, 
long before the train reaches it. After a sweep around on 
the meadows, the railway crosses the drawbridge over Beach 
Thoroughfare, and deposits us at Atlantic City. It is found 
to be a town of wooden houses built on the sand, with grav- 
elled streets, dusty and dry, with an almost blinding glare 
of sunlight in the daytime, but having nearly always a cool 
and refreshing breeze, and an absolutely cold atmosphere at 
night. It has not the substantial stone and brick buildings 
and the compact construction of the older foreign watering- 
places, but then they have nothing in their pebbled and 
shingled, shelving, and often very steep shores, to compare 
to its broad and hard sand-beaches. 



34 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

A RIPE ON THE SANDS. 

It is tiresome work walking about in the sun on these 
hot days, so we will get into one of the Jersey carriages, 
with horses that look as it' they waged perpetual war against 
the mosquito and green-headed fly, and broad-tired wheels, 
made to prevent sinking in the sand, and take a survey of 
the town. We pass the new National Bank and the Chinese 
laundry just set up by an almond-eyed mandarin named 
AVag-shag, and proceed up Atlantic Avenue. This broad 
street, one hundred feet wide, runs the full length of the 
city, and is surveyed all the way down the beach. It is 
bordered by fine hotels, stores, and lodging-houses, and the 
railway, with both horse- and steam-cars, is laid along the 
centre. This railway curves around to the left towards the 
Inlet, and near here is seen the old frame Atlantic Hotel, 
which was the first hotel built in the city. Near it an 
enterprising gentleman is digging a series of excavations 
in the salt marshes that look like a regular system of min- 
iature canals and docks, and are to be ultimately elab- 
orated into what is known as a " terrapin farm." The 
ground is spongy underfoot and easily worked, while just 
beyond surveyors are laying out a new railroad to the Inlet. 
We go farther, to the edge of the wharf at the Inlet, and 
find that the tidal action which has been filling in new land 
on the ocean front has, at the same time, been washing 
away the shore of the Inlet, while the wind blows the sand 
in heaps that almost cover the railroad. Across is the 
dreary waste of sand-bars at Brigantine Point, and between 
are a few rapidly-moving yachts that " stand over"' in the 
stifl' breeze. Vegetation does not flourish here. The few 
trees are stunted, and the grass, which has a hard struggle 
for existence against the sand and salt air, is sparse and 
sickly. 

Turning about, we pass through several cross streets, and 
finally go south along Pacific Avenue. The Life-saving 
Station is passed, a low reddish building, shingled on the 
sides as well as the roof, but closed for the season. The 
signal-officer's house is recognized by the r[ueer instruments 
up on the roof, the cups that tell the force of the wind 
rapidly revolving. From here come those tantalizing tele-" 



ATLANTIC CITF. 35 

firrams that agirravate Philadelphia on a hundred- decree day 
'by rep(jrting only sixty or seventy degrees at Atlantie City. 
Tile tall light-house tower, with its red and white surface, 
rises between, the people on the little balcony at the top 
looking like pigmies, they are so high up. We drive along 
Pacific Avenue between rows of pretty villas and cottages, 
with an occasional hammock swung on tlie porches to aid 
in passing away a very lazy day. Similar cottages are seen 
along the cross streets, with frequent new ones going up on 
the vacant ground. All are built of wood, cellarless, and 
standing on brick supports, the panels and eaves being 
prettily painted, while the frequent bow-windows show that 
that phase of Philadelphia warfare has not yet reached the 
Jersey coast. 

A newsboy's fortune. 

Pacific Avenue leads us to the region of the Excursion 
houses, where every morning the three railways pour out 
their loads of transient visitors. Here is a perfect maze of 
saloons and restaurants, bathing-houses, and amusement places, 
not to forget the huge circular swings as high as a house ; 
and here are the tens of thousands accommodated who can 
only give a day to get a breath of fresh air and a dip in the 
salt water at the seaside. The chief of these, the Sea View 
House, has been built up into prosperity by a Philadelphia 
newsboy, John Trenwith, who began life by selling Ledf/ers, 
and is now a capitalist worth, they say, at least one hundred 
thousand dollars. It is a sight to see when in the full tide 
of business on a big excursion day ; and to hear John tell 
how he first accumulated pennies by selling newspapers, while 
his brother Tom makes his big black dog, Neptune, stand up 
and bark to get a cracker. They pay eight thousand dollars 
a year for tlie house now, which is pretty good evidence of 
the business done in the two or three summer months that it 
can be carried on. Below the Excursion houses the town 
soon loses itself in the sand-hills, and off the shore the gaunt 
bones of a wreck stick up, with the waves washing over them. 
We turn back along the beach, and, as the carriage drives 
through the edge of the sea, for the tide is coming in and 
waves pass under the wheels, we look out over the ocean with 
its green water, and the blue line far away where the sea 



36 BBIEF SUMMER F AMBLES. 

fades into the sky. The breakers roll in, curl over, tumble, 
about in long lines of foam, and, 'with a steady roar, finally 
break down and exhaust themselves at our feet. Little bub- 
bles float on their surface, and as they recede a streak of 
soapsuds marks the line to which they came. The best surf, 
and consequently the best bathing, is at the southern end of 
the town, and down towards Egg Harbor. 

A broad plank foot walk borders the beach, and bath-houses 
are dotted all along it. People are lying about on the sand, 
with umbrellas up, to keep off the sun and wind. Children 
are digging canals and building forts to be knocked down by 
the waves, some wading about in long gum boots, and others 
getting their feet wet as they miscalculate their ability to run 
away from a wave. Carriages drive along, and occasionally 
a thin youth balances himself as he goes by, apparently with 
painful effort to keep himself erect on a bicycle. In this 
region the new Park bath-house and parlor, built by IMr. 
George F. Lee, has introduced a comfort in bathing accom- 
modations heretofore unknown at Atlantic City. To the 
dressing-rooms he has added the attractions of the parlor and 
the usefulness of the telephone and messenger systems, the 
house itself being quite an ornamental structure. In the 
bazar adjoining are all the different kinds of pretty shells 
picked up on the beach, the proprietor quietly telling me he 
usually imported his supplies from the West Indies. 

THE GREAT BEACON. 

There are a few great beacon-lights on the Atlantic Coast 
that are known by the mariner the world over. One is at 
Hatteras, others at Cape Ann, Cape Cod, Gay Head, Minot's 
Ledge, and Nantucket, and another at Absecom. This great 
xVbsecom light at Atlantic City, furnished by a Fresnel lens 
of the first order, which gives a mass of light six feet wide 
and ten feet high, burns steadily from sunset to sunrise, and 
can be seen from the deck of a vessel twenty miles at sea. 
It is a fixed white light exhibited from the top of a tower one 
hundred and sixty-seven feet high, and is visible all around 
the horizon. To protect the tower thousands of tons of stone 
and huge d^-kes are placed on the seaside, but the washing of 
the waves seriously threatened it, until, three years ago, a 
pier was constructed a long distance out to sea, and since- 



ATLANTIC CITY. 37 

then the land has made, removing the beach hundreds of feet 
away from the tower and the town. About twenty-five years 
2.'^() a liuge package was sold at auction in New York for 
unpaid custom duties, and brought about two hundred dol- 
lars. It had been consigned in France to a person who had 
never called for it. Being opened, an immense Fresnel lens, 
of the highest order, was found, and this is now the Absecom 
light. It had cost the government about eleven thousand 
dollars, and they thought it was lost. Let us make this great 
light-house a visit. 3Iajor Wolf, the keeper, lives in a modest 
brick building at the foot of the tower. He is a bird-fancier, 
and has a large lattice-work house near by, with almost a 
hundred pigeons, many of them carriers, and .some of them 
most amusing tumblers, while over the assemblage presides 
a solemn wild goose. The walks about the grounds are bor- 
dered with shells, but even steady coaxing cannot get flowers 
to grow on the neat grass-plats. We enter the base of the 
tower and sign the register as a preliminary to the visit. The 
keeper complains of being lonesome at times, though he has 
plenty of visitors. Last year over eleven thousand persons 
climbed the tower, nearly half of them in the month of Au- 
gust, but he is principally lonesome in the winter-time^ only 
twenty coming to see him in January, and they on two days 
only. But in August they come in droves, and on the 11th 
of August last year, in the three hours that the tower is 
open, no less than three hundred and eighty-four persons 
went up. There was a big excursion that day, and, as the 
Major tersely expressed it, a good many of his visitors were 
saturated with •' peanuts and mineral water," and made so 
much dirt that the tower had to be given an extra house- 
cleaning. As we signed the book, a pretty little rose-breasted 
grosbeak, which had been caught in the netting outside the 
lantern, chirped merrily in its cage. Were it not for this 
netting the birds flying against the lantern at night might 
break the glass. As it is, many are caught in the netting. 
The Major said he once caught seven brant at one time, and 
they had thus captured as many as three hundred birds in a 
single night. 

Let us climb laboriously up the winding stairs of the grad- 
ually narrowing tower, and count its two hundred and twenty- 
eight steps as we ascend. It is a tough job, even for the 

4 



38 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

keepers who are used to it, and the climber winds around and 
around the twisted stairway until he srets almost into the 
condition of the whirling dervish. The stairway finally 
comes to an end in a little room beneath the lantern, and on 
a level with the balcony outside the tower. Here they sit at 
night, serving four-hoia* watches, and as the tower vibrates in 
the wind they superintend the light above. We go up into 
the lantern and see the wonderful construction that makes 
this powerful light. Imagine yourself in the chimney of a 
mammoth lamp, ten feet high and six feet across, the central 
part of the sides made of thick curved glass, and all the rest, 
top and bottom, of curved prisms acting as a multitude of 
reflectors. In the centre is a large lamp with four circidar 
wicks, arranged regularly, one inside the other. Above and 
below are huge reservoirs of lard oil, with pumps moved by 
clock-work which regulate the supply. Two gallons of oil 
are burnt in a night to keep up this artificial sun for the 
mariner, which outshines any other light that has yet been 
adapted for light-house use. 

The view from the top of this tower is grand. Far out to 
sea the haze over the water obscures the junction of ocean 
and sky, but vessels spread their white sails in all directions. 
To the northward Brigantine Beach stretches far up the coast, 
with the two hotels dim in the distance, and its intricate maze 
of inland thorough^res spread out like a map. To the south- 
ward is the city, and beyond it exten<is the long, narrow tongue 
of white sand that can be traced to Egg Harbor Inlet. At 
our feet are the houses of the town, scattered about in patches 
oF green, with the yellow gravelled streets dividing them like 
the squares on a chess-board. In front, the long white lines 
of surf roll in. and the myriads of specks of bathers and 
promenaders, with their variegated costumes, can be seen 
moving about on the beach or water. Behind the town spreads 
out the vast expanse of salt marsh, with an occasional creek 
winding through it, and railway trains crawKng like snakes 
across it. And all the time the wind blows so strongly that 
you can scarcely stand up airainst it on this elevated perch. 
But it is worth all the trouble taken to thus get so good a 
view of Philadelphia's great seaside pleasure-ground. 



CAPE MAT. 39 



VI. 
CAPE MAY. 

A RIDE TO THE CAPE. 

There is a broad belt of o-arden-land stretchino; alonG: the 
Jersey shore of the Delaware River, from Trenton down to 
Salem, which is described by the " American Cyclopredia" as 
" probably the most skilfully cultivated and productive land 
in the United States." It was here, in a time long gone by, 
that the first vegetables and fruits were usually raised for the 
Philadelphia markets, and sold at almost fiibulous j;)rices. 
They are still raised, but the Southern railways now bring 
their predecessors from Charleston and Norfolk, and even 
from Florida, so that the Jersey truck-farmer is no longer 
able to sell his earliest peas, asparagus, and strawberries at 
nearly their weight in silver. In fact, the peddlers from town, 
with these Southern supplies, are now in the habit of over- 
running his own region with early garden-sauce long before 
the fiirst of the Jersey crop can ripen. But this garden-land 
is still assiduously cultivated all the same; although its first 
products do not now yield such great profits ; and the Jersey 
vegetables and fruits which it produces, brought to the city 
by steamboat and railway, and by the processions of market- 
wagons that cross the ferries every day, are a main source of 
feeding Philadelphia. Let us take a railway ride through a 
portion of this highly-cultivated region by getting on one of 
the " two-hour trains" that run on the West Jersey Railroad 
from Camden to Cape May. The railway turns around a 
sharp curve alongside the Camden City Hall, and begins its 
southward journey through the town and out over the mead- 
ows and low lands, the cars rattling across two narrow-gauge 
railways on the road to Gloucester. Then for nearly forty 
miles the line runs through a succession of market-gardens, 
truck-farms, fruit-orchards, and vineyards in traversing the 
strip of land above referred to. The train swiftly glides 
through Woodbury, past the beautiful home of Dr. Green, 



40 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

with his villa and lawn and lake and the little windmill pump- 
ing water, the finest residence seen out of the car-windows 
on the ride to the Cape. The ague that the doctor prescribes 
for has shaken a golden shower into his lap, which he spends 
to beautify Woodbury. The pretty village of Wenonah is 
set up on a hill, three miles below, and after crossing the 
valley of Mantua Creek and the extensive marl-beds beyond, 
the train rushes past the camp-meeting ground at Pitman 
Grove. Here glimpses of little cottages can be seen through 
the trees, and here, in July and August, the Jersey girls and 
their beaux gather to attend the camp-meetings and review 
the passenger-trains as they go by. Branch railways start 
off from the main line at intervals, two of them at Wood- 
bury, leading towards the westward to Swedesboro' and Penns- 
grove, the land of the watermelon and the sweet potato, and 
another at G-lassboro' to the dairies of Salem and the busy 
factories at Bridgeton. Grlassboro' is passed off to the left, 
its factory chimneys in the distance, and four miles below is 
Clayton, also a seat of the glass manufacture. Here they 
make the wine bottles for nearly all the Jersey vineyards, and 
occasionally indulge in a grand liquor cremation when the 
temperance sentiment of the village asserts itself and closes 
up the single tavern that exists in the place. Below this the 
land along the railway gradually changes its features, and the 
market-gardens become interspersed with orchards and vine- 
yards. Franklinville and Malaga are passed, and for miles 
the traveller glides along a level region, devoted to vine- and 
fruit-growing, with a wagon road on each side of the railway, 
and well-kept hedges dividing the fields. This is Vineland, 
one of the most remarkable settlements in the United States, 
stretched for eight miles along the railroad, and rescued from 
the Jersey pine barrens by the indomitable energy of its 
thrifty settlers. At the centre is a thickly-inhabited town. 
But they have a fashion here of occasionally shooting an edi- 
tor, and, as the train does not stop, we will go on till it slack- 
ens speed for the engine to take a drink out of the long 
water-trough stretched between the rails north of Millville, 
and then glide through the station and town of Millville, 
forty miles south of Philadelphia, one of the chief places in 
South Jersey. Here is the Maurice River, with its valuable 
water-power, and here also are large factories, iron-mills, and 



CAPE MAY. 41 

glass houses, while shipbuilding goes on extensively. The 
white sand that appears ia patches among the vegetation tells 
where this part of Jersey gets the materials for glass-making, 
but does not speak well for fertility. Below Millvillc the 
railway runs a long stretch through pine barrens, with an 
occasional settlement, and a broad strip of cleared land on 
each side of the line to prevent the locomotive firing the 
woods, although this precaution is not always effectual. For 
miles the cars swiftly pass on through this region, the pines 
standing up in long ranks on either side. This is the land 
of the hoop-pole and the mosquito, and its inhabitants, who 
cut the former, tell fabulous tales of the prowess of the latter, 
which, according to report, grow to vast size, and do great 
deeds back in the dark-green woods in Cumberland, Cape 
May, and Atlantic Counties. The train passes the station at 
Woodbine, where along a most desolate road to the eastward 
a stage runs to the well-known town of Tuckahoe, a perfect 
little oasis set in a desert of pines, and built on the shores 
of the very crooked but very pretty Tuckahoe River. We 
steam along through more sand, pine woods, and mosquitoes, 
past Seaville, with its new road off to Sea Isle City, and then 
down the Cape. Here quickly the pines are left behind, and 
the road goes through fine farms. Cape May is a region of 
good farming-land, and is well cultivated almost down to the 
ocean's edge. The Court- House, not a very pretentious set- 
tlement, is passed eleven miles from the end of the Cape, and 
then we go by the famous Cold Spring. Here was once a 
pavilion and pleasure resort, and to the little church- yard not 
very far away Cape May comes to bury its dead. Soon the 
ocean is seen off on the left, with the town stretched along 
it ; the salt and bracing air blows away the dust and mosqui- 
toes, and the train trundles into the station, eighty-one and a 
quarter miles from Camden, landing its load of humanity 
and grip sacks, to be gathered in by the brigade of coach- 
drivers who are in waiting. 

CAPE MAY CITY. 

There are two lasting and almost instant impressions made 
upon the visitor on his first arrival at Cape May. One is the 
compactness of the town, so unusual at seacoast resorts, and 
the other the magnificence of the sea-beach. Cape May is 

4* 



42 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

an old place, and was in the full tide of prosperity many 
years before Atlantic City or Long Branch were much 
thought of. People went in the last century by stages 
through the Jersey pines by way of Tuckahoe, while after- 
wards steamboats down the Delaware carried the travel. 
" Fare, carriage hire included, two dollars," used to be the 
steamboat legend, and once in a while an opposition boat 
would be put on to do the work for a dollar and a half. In 
the good old days the steamboat landed you on the bay-shore 
just inside of Cape May Point, and then there was a rush for 
the carriages. It was these Jerseymen, who galloped their 
horses over the two miles of turnpike from the Steamboat 
Landing, who first taught how many people could be crammed 
into a vehicle, and the Philadelphia street-car managers 
learned a lesson from them. The steamboat landed its many 
hundreds of passengers, and then came the race over to Cape 
Island, to be the first at the hotel- counters to bespeak the 
best rooms. In those days there were only four prominent 
watering-places on the coast, Nahant, Newport, Cape May, 
and Old Point Comfort, and Cape May was the great surf- 
bathing resort, and the centre of Cape May was the Congress 
Hall lawn. That and the Mansion House, and the Ocean 
House, the Columbia, and the Atlantic, were in those days 
the great hotels of Cape Island, but all these famous hostel- 
ries have been swept away by fire to be succeeded by better 
buildings. It has only been a few days since the ancient 
landlord of the old-time Mansion House died, at the ripe 
age of eighty-nine, on June 15, and was followed by the 
townsfolk to his last resting-place at Cold Spring Church. 
Uncle Smith Ludlam was, in his day, one of the handsomest 
men that eye ever looked upon, and, having been born at 
Cape May, he had become its patriarch. The old folk well 
remember him when, in his prime, he laid down the rules 
of Cape May etiquette on the Mansion House porch, and 
almost every summer had Henry Clay for his guest, nearly 
a half-century ago. 

During how long this grand beach has been used for sea- 
bathing no one knows. But the first man who took a dip in 
the surf there was probably that renowned old skipper of 
the Dutch East India Company, Captain Carolis Jacobscn 
Mey, who came along with his fleet of fifty-ton frigates, in 



CAPE MAY. 43 

1614, and gave his first name to the southern and his last 
name to the northern cape, at the Delaware lliver entrance. 
Cape Mej, slightly modified, remains, but Cape Carolis has 
been gradually changed to Hindloop, Ilindloopen, and now 
Cape Henlopen. The settlement of the Cape was made as 
early if not earlier than Philadelphia. Its alluvial soil was 
a great attraction, and it soon grew into a compact city of 
hotels and boarding-houses along the edge of the beach, 
with fine shade-trees and good vegetation, and comparatively 
narrow but well-kept streets. In later days advancing luxury 
added rows of cottages, until now the city has grown far 
north along Poverty Beach ; and an occasional fire in the 
heart of the town has swept away the older buildings and 
given opportunity for the construction of modern ones. The 
last fire was so severe that it nearly destroyed the town, and 
there are several lots not yet built upon, while for greater 
safety, many of the new structures are of brick. How the 
patriarchs of Cape May, who, years ago, had almost the only 
surf bathing place on the Jersey coast, would open their eyes 
now, if they could come back and see that entire coast, 
almost from Sandy Hook to Cape May, lined with watering- 
places, where a hundred thousand variegated costumes take 
a dip in old ocean on a hot summer's day ! The glory of 
Cape May is its sea-beach. Hard, smooth, of gradual de- 
scent, with no bar or obstruction outside to break the force 
of the waves as they roll in from the broad Atlantic, it 
stands unrivalled. It does not attract the crowds like At- 
lantic City, or Coney Island, or the new settlements around 
Long Branch, for the excursionists have not sought it in such 
droves, but it is not unusual to see five thousand bathers dis- 
porting in the surf on a fine summer's morning. The life- 
boats float on the waters outside, and the crowds gather on 
the Board Walk, or ride merrily along the drive just inside, 
while in the afternoons the bands play at the big hotels and 
wind up the evenings with a " hop." 

The series of lagoons and salt marshes and meadows that 
fringe the Jersey coast come to an end at the Inlet just above 
Cape May City, so that the lower part of the Cape is a com- 
pact mass, enabling the town to be built almost down to the 
water's edge. Yachts lie in the Inlet to take visitors sailing 
on the sound, and there are some people at the Cape who 



44 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

have a recollection of good fishing and gunning. These 
flourished, however, in days gone by, much more than at 
present. Now the time is chiefly passed in bathing, and 
lounging about the hotels, and going to the station to see the 
train come in. Once in a while the monotony is varied by 
the arrival of a bogus " Lord" from abroad who forgets to 
pay his bills, or by catching a shark and tying him to one 
of the little piers that old ocean almost knocked to pieces 
last winter ; but usually the efi'ect of a prolonged visit to the 
Cape is the development of chronic laziness and a ravenous 
appetite. To the surf-bathing there have been added at 
Cape May all the luxuries of hot and cold sea-water baths 
without exposure in the ocean, the chief establishment of the 
kind being one of the largest in the country, Mr. William 
King's Excelsior Baths, where the proprietor, recognizing 
that people, the same as clothing, come in assorted sizes, has 
this year put in some extra wide bath-tubs for his best-de- 
veloped patrons. It is along the Cape May beach in the 
height of the season that the pretty girls of Philadelphia and 
Baltimore love to wander, and here, as day gives place to 
night, and the silver sheen of the moon dances on the water, 
there is as much " spooning" as ever watering-place can de- 
velop. The Board Walk is another " Flirtation Walk" that 
brings its crop of weddings in the autumn, for its very atmos- 
phere is one of romance. 



VII. 
DOWN THE DELAWAEE KIYEK. 

ANOTHER STEAMBOAT JOURNEY. 

There is plenty of opportunity to take a steamboat ride 
down the Delaware River, and it is a favorite excursion 
route. The steamboat " Republic" goes as far as Cape May ; 
the " Samuel M. Felton" goes to Wilmington ; the " Thomas 
Clyde" and " Major Reybold," " John A. Warner" and 
" Perry" and other boats make daily trips down to the 



DOWN THE DELAWARE RIVER. 45 

various towns and beaches along the shores, while the " Ed- 
win Forrest" gives a pleasant Sunday excursion to Fort Del- 
aware. The banks are low and the river gradually broadens 
as the bay is approached, so that there is very little to see 
below the head of the bay, at the Fort, excepting a wide 
expanse of water bearing an occasional vessel. But the trip 
down the river gives an excellent opportunity to study the 
commerce of Piiiladelphia, and, in hot, summer weather, 
brings the rambler in a brief time to where he can get a whiff 
of the delicious salt air coming up over the Delaware Bay. 
Let us try an excursion route down the river, which, at the 
outset, takes us between Windmill Island and the wharves 
of the city, with the great railway station and market at 
Dock Street, and the outlying piers where the oyster-boats 
will soon again assemble, past the steamers and fleets of 
sailing-vessels, and the down- town sugar-houses, in front of 
whose doors the schooners land the West India sugar hogs- 
heads. The coal-wharves on Windmill Island below the 
canal appear to be abandoned, but at Point Airy, on the 
lower end, in a pleasant grove of trees, is the Sanitarium 
for Sick Children, one of our most worthy charities, which 
takes the sick infants of the poor over to that breezy pleas- 
ure-ground and tries to save their lives. A little ferry-boat 
crosses the narrow channel to the grove whose foliage almost 
hides the buildings. Then on the city shore just below wo 
come to Simpson's dry-docks, and adjoining it the spacious 
piers of the American Steamship Company, where the rare 
sight is seen of the American flag flying at the peak of a 
transatlantic steamer. Here is a busy place, for stevedores 
are handling inward and outward cargo, and the nimble little 
shifting engine puffs behind the warehouses and pulls the 
cars in and out that carry the far Western cargoes. In the 
docks are often seen big steamers of the American line bear- 
ing such monarchical and aristocratic names as the " British 
Empire" and the " British Crown," " Lord Clive" and " Lord 
Gough." They are bent on peaceful freighting missions to 
this port, however, and their Union Jack flies with the Stars 
and Stripes in international commercial friendliness. At the 
adjoining lied Star dock are the staunch vessels of the Ant- 
werp line, a fleet, including tlie " Waesland," " Belgenland," 
" lihynland," and other vessels of magnificent proportions 



46 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and fine construction, built in foreign yards by American 
capital, and shrewdly placed under the Belgian flag to get 
the benefit of a mail subsidy which little Belgium wisely 
grants to attract commerce to Antwerp, a policy that com- 
mends itself to the wisdom of foreign rulers, but which our 
own Government has not yet learned to appreciate. 



THE OLD SWEDES CHURCH. 

Behind the docks and the steamers is the quaint little 
Swedes' Church, with its octagonal chancel jutting out over 
the Swanson Street sidewalk, and the small white antique 
bell-tower perched on the farther end. Beyond it are the 
trees in the old graveyard extending back to Otsego Street, 
while still farther ofi' rise the shot-tower and some distant 
church spires. This venerable church, which had long been 
the presiding genius of the dominions of Wicaco (recon- 
structed by a later generation into Weccacoe), is the patri- 
arch of down- town Philadelphia, and dates from the year 
1700. The thousands of arriving immigrants who pour out 
of the steamship wharves greet the old church and its burial- 
ground as if they were friends, they look so much like the 
village churches and graveyards of their abandoned European 
homes. There are, probably, eight thousand graves in the 
enclosure, for burials have been made there from 1*708 to the 
present time. Here is an old-time soapstone gravestone, 
worn and indented on the top, that dates from April, 1108, 
and marks the grave of Peter Sandel, this being the oldest 
tombstone in the yard. There are other ancient tombs of 
the Swedes who first peopled this part of the town, but, 
probably, the most noted grave is the altar-tomb over Alex- 
ander Wilson, the ornithologist. He was of Scotch birth, 
but came to this country at the beginning of the present 
century, and died in Philadelphia in 1813. His special wish 
was that he should be buried " in some rural spot where the 
birds might forever sing over his grave," and here with the 
busy traffic of a great railway just outside the wall, the birds 
still sing merrily over the remains of one of their greatest 
friends. For forty-five years the eccentric Dr. Collin, the 
latest missionary sent from Sweden, presided over the little 
church, and when he died and was laid away with the other 
rectors in 1831, the congregation had become reduced till it 



DOWN THE DELAWARE RIVER. 47 

could be counted on one's fingers. Then came the beloved 
Dr. Clay, who ministered for thirty-two years, and built the 
church up again. His bones lie in the graveyard where they 
were interred in 1 863. Now the ancient church is hardly big 
enough to hold the congregation attending the present rector's 
ministry (Ivev. Snyder B. Simes), and who wander among 
the venerable gravestones with the antiquary's pencil and 
note-book. Long may the old church stand, a tie between 
the Philadelphia of to-day and its earliest infancy, for the 
little log fort and church that originally stood here were built 
several years before William Penn entered the Delaware. 

Below are large numbers of vessels loading cargo at the 
old navy-yard wharves and the docks adjoining, while quite a 
fleet are at anchor to the eastward of the channel. Over on 
the Jersey shore is Kaighn's Point, with the ferry-boats pass- 
ing across the river, while below them the three powerful 
City Ice-Boats are laid up, patiently waiting for the task 
which the merchants hope they may not have to perform at 
breaking ice next winter. Low, grassy meadows line the 
shore on both sides, and just as the " Neck" begins and the 
fertilizing works are seen on shore, a very small bone-boiling 
establishment creates a very prominent odor, which the 
westerly breeze carries across the w^ater to perfume our 
friends in South Camden. The Pennsylvania Salt Com- 
pany's works are beyond, with their extensive wharves ex- 
tending out into the stream, where vessels from Greenland 
are unloading kryolite. In these marshes the down-town 
sportsmen in the autumn will be pushed about among the 
reeds, in little boats, to shoot the delicious reed-birds, one 
of the pastimes of the population of the " Neck." On the 
river, most of the larger vessels seen fly foreign flags, while 
the water is dotted over with yachts and skiffs, laden w^ith 
rollicking young men, who get an occasional wetting, as an 
extra puff of wind causes the sides of their vessel to dip 
under the waves. But they are singing and laughing and 
having a good time, shouting at the people on the big steam- 
boat that has to keep out of their way. 

GLOUCESTER AND THE HORSE-SHOE. 

The river apparently narrows as we approach the entrance 
to the "Horseshoe bend" which curves to the westward. 



48 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and borders southern Philadelphia, past the end of Broad 
Street and around to the mouth of the Schuylkill. To the right 
as we enter the Horse-shoe are the Greenwich Piers, where 
the Pennsylvania Railroad ships its coal, and the various gas- 
coal companies put the soft coals of the Westmoreland region 
on board vessels. On the Jersey shore, opposite, are the 
great mills of Gloucester, their chimneys and bell-towers 
surmounting the red brick buildings, that employ an army 
of operatives. Below, and covered by a grove of trees, is 
Gloucester Point, jutting out in the river, with its ferry, and 
the powerful steamboat " Dauntless" is coming up, laden 
with Jersey market-wagons, bound to South and Second 
Streets, or to the truck-dealers around the Dock Street 
Market. What a vast amount of garden-produce, vegetables, 
and fruits comes across the ferry ; and how little cash the 
farmers get for it, yet how much it costs the retail buyer 
after the middlemen have got their profits out ! Down to 
the Gloucester Grove also go hundreds of summer seekers 
after fresh air, while in its cove below, with its level beach, 
the great shad-net is drawn in the season that caught forty- 
five thousand of them last spring. Thither congregate the 
lovers of " planked shad," and gorge the luscious brain-food as 
long as appropriate fluids can be found to wash it down. Many 
a time have the Philadelphia newspapers been brightened by 
the writing-staff" taking an afternoon off for a Gloucester 
planked-shad dinner. 

Below Gloucester the river sweeps grandly around the 
Horse-shoe bend, and the voyager can see the " Neck" in all 
its glory. Across the low land with its green marsh grass, 
an almost treeless expanse, rise the buildings of the League 
Island Navy- Yard. The cove on the Jersey shore makes an 
enormous semicircle, with woods almost all along the banks 
and running out to a point ahead of us at Bed Bank. The 
entire surface of the river is dotted over with skiff's, for a stiff 
breeze blows and all the amateur navigators are out, from 
the broad- winged yacht down to the little "dug-out" with 
its shoulder-of-mutton sail. Careful steering is necessary to 
avoid some of these venturesome craft that cross almost under 
the steamer's bow. To the westward is the little opening in 
the land made by the narrow back channel running behind 
League Island ; and as we steam along tlie Island Philadel- 



DOWN THE DELAWARE RIVER. 49 

phia is stretched out in full view across the lowlands of the 
" Neck." There is the new City Hall, and all the familiar 
towers and steeples, and fiir away to the northwest, yet the 
most prominent object of all is the observatory on Lemon 
Hill, visible for miles down the river. League Island has 
quite a town of huge brick buildings on it, — the naval, ship, 
and machine houses, — and the stars and stripes float from a 
tall mast in front of them. There are also two or three war 
vessels at the wharf, but it looks like an idle place, and as if 
they did just as little work as possible. In fact, the Govern- 
ment does not treat this Navy- Yard right after the city gave 
the site to Uncle Sam, but we live in hopes of better 
things. Broad Street comes down through the buildings and 
ends at the wharf on the river, while Just opposite is Red 
Bank, where there used to be a ferry. The old landing 
above the red bluif that gives the place its name is aban- 
doned now, and going to ruin. It was once a popular resort 
for excursionists, and in the sultry summer-time was known 
as " Red (hot) Bank," for the mercury there had a habit of 
mounting above 100 degrees on slight provocation. 

FORT MIFFLIN AND THE LAZARETTO. 

Below League Island, yet scarcely discernible, it flows be- 
tween such low shores, is the mouth of the Schuylkill River. 
The first explorers of the Delaware passed and repassed the 
place and never discovered it, and when the stream was found, 
the Dutch appropriately named it the Schuylkill, which, 
translated, means " the hidden river." We miss the Girard 
Point Elevator that used to be the landmark here, and was 
unfortunately burnt, but pile-driving is going on for its recon- 
struction. As we steam past the new range-lights marking 
the Schuylkill channel entrance. Fort Mifflin is seen below on 
the Pennsylvania shore, while out on the little island in mid- 
stream is the IJort Mifflin light-house, whose keeper is said 
to be a perfect martyr, the place is so overrun by water- 
snakes, attracted by the light. The lantern is on top of a 
small white house surrounded by trees. As this light has 
been superseded by newer beacons on the shore, it is in con- 
templation to remove the artificial pile-island altogether, in 
the improvement of the Delaware navigation. The Fort 
looks warlike with its long, low, grassy-bordered earthworks, 
c d 5 



50 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and the black guns poking out tlieir muzzles on top, and, in fact, 
is the most formidable work on the Delaware ; but the small 
garrison has little to do this peaceful summer weather. South 
of the Fort an extensive surface has been reclaimed and filled 
up with the dredge stuff taken out of the river making the 
channel improvement through Mifflin bar, and strong stone 
dykes line the shore for a long distance to maintain the river- 
bank. We run down the channel through the bar by sight- 
ing the new Fort Mifflin range-lights on the Jersey shore at 
Billingsport. The high black rear tower is kept in line with 
the lower front light, and thus the pilots get the range that 
guides them safely through the bar. 

Jersey has an occasional yellow bluff to relieve the mo- 
notony of its banks, and in front of us is sighted the green 
surface of Tinicum Island, scarcely rising above the water. 
We soon pass Billingsport, with its pleasant villas up on the 
little bluff", with terraced and sodded banks. Tinicum Island 
covers some six hundred acres, and much of it is cultivated 
land. It is now to be made useful for shipping purposes, and 
its Philadelphia owners have begun work at placing a dyke 
and bulkhead all around the northern part, and it will be filled 
up by materials dredged out of the river, making good land. 
There are at the northern end three or four little islands, 
some of them formed since the channel was disturbed by the 
engineering operations. The Jersey shore below Billingsport 
is a long grassy bank with trees on the lowlands behind. We 
are now running the range formed by the Finn's Point lights 
below Billingsport, and off to the right, on the Pennsylvania 
shore, beyond Tinicum Island, and on the mainland of Tin- 
icum township, is seen the Lazaretto. There, on a high staff, 
flies the yellow quarantine flag, emblazoned with a big " Q," 
which symbol just now embodies all the power of the State, 
and is a warning to the skippers who come from Southern 
ports to halt their vessels and let the physicians make an ex- 
amination. The arriving vessels can be seen far down the 
channel below Chester, and the tug is sent out around the 
lower end of Tinicum Island, which is covered with trees, to 
board them. The national standard floats in front of the 
Lazaretto, but at present it does not inspire as much respect 
in the eyes of the mariner as the yellow flag with the big 
" Q." At the wharf the little tug lies, also with a yellow 



DOWN THE DELAWARE RIVER. 51 

flag flying from its staff" that is almost as large as the tug 
itself. 

Opposite Tiniciim, on the Jersey shore, is the new powder- 
making establishment of the Duponts, whither in time all the 
works now near Wilmington will probably be removed. Here 
has been built a large wharf, while inland the railroad from 
Woodbury runs down towards Pennsgrove. Scattered over 
the broad meadows are a great number of little powder-houses, 
in which various parts of the manufacture are conducted, and 
the buildings are so disposed, that if one explodes it will not 
necessarily endanger the others ; and thus a sudden earth- 
quake in this part of Jersey may be avoided. Inspired with 
the respect for the quarantine flag that all navigators of the 
Delaware River have in summer-time, let us halt this descrip- 
tion at the Lazaretto, and continue it another day. 



VIII. 

DOAVN THE DELAWARE EIVER. 

CHESTER AND THE HOOK. 

There is a charming view down the Delaware River, below 
the Lazaretto, albeit the shores are low and the river wide. 
It shows one of the finest industrial sights the eye can look 
upon, backed by sloping banks of greensward and woodland. 
The low grassy shores of Chester Island appear in mid-stream, 
and off to the right is the broad expanse of the thriving city 
of Chester, with the white-walled Military Academy up on the 
hill far back from the river. Simpson's Print-Works, the im- 
mense new structure of red brick, an establishment but recently 
removed from the Falls of Schuylkill, is out on the river-bank, 
while just below, but farther inland, along the railroad, are 
General Patterson's gray-colored cotton-mills. Their venerable 
proprietor — the hero of three wars — is said to conduct them 
on strictly military principles, exacting, as in the army, regular 
morning reports. Chester spreads out, a busy place, for three 
or four miles along the bank, and has grown with great rapid- 



52 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

ity in recent years. At the lower end are the great Roach 
ship-yards, full of business, with vessels building on the stocks 
and finishing at the wharves. Several keels are laid in the 
yards, one looking as if it were four hundred feet long, and 
the last coat of paint is being put on one of the new iron 
excursion boats for the Coney Island route from New York. 
Below the ship-yards immense mills are located at intervals 
along the bank, while out in the stream is the rocky obstruc- 
tion known as Schooner Ledge, through which the engineers 
are deepening the channel. At and near Chester, in the 
establishment of fiictories removed from Philadelphia, new 
villages are growing up that make extensions of that enter- 
prising town, and here can be studied the impolicy of the 
system of excessive taxation and unkind treatment that has 
driven these great industrial works away from Philadelphia, 
where they used to be. They have gone away to stay. Here, 
also, are the extensive shipping-plant of the Tidewater Pipe 
Line, with its great oil-tanks, and the wharves of the Chester 
Oil Company, for petroleum export abroad. Above these 
wharves the winter shipment is protected by large ice-breakers. 
At Chester we sight the only mountain range the State of 
Delaware possesses. They are not very big mountains, but 
look imposing in the blue and hazy distance, the river-shores 
are so low. These are the hills along the Brandywine, seen 
coming from the westward, out at the horizon in front of us 
to Wilmington. They spread broadly across the view, and 
continue in sight for many miles down the river. The Jersey 
shore is low, with scarcely anything to relieve its monotony. 
On the Pennsylvania shore there are beautiful sloping banks, 
with many pretty houses, and the Baltimore Railroad runs 
just back of the water's edge. Thus we come to Marcus 
Hook, with its ice-piers forming a harbor of refuge in the 
river in front of the town. The " Hook" is a cosey nest of 
little houses, with two old church-spires rising among the 
trees behind the village. Just below, in a pleasant grove, 
and with a little wharf in front, is the old mansion known as 
the " Lindenthorpe Club House." The telescope discloses 
sundry Philadelphia statesmen sitting on the porch, and on 
benches under the trees, who have gone there to enjoy them- 
selves and compass plans for political management. Two or 
three have glasses in their hands with straws in them. Far- 



DOWN THE DELAWARE RIVER 53 

ther down there is an attractive villa on the shore, with a 
little sundj beach in front. The beach extends down a short 
distance and stops at a clump of three trees, where appa- 
rently a small brook flows in. Just there is the dividing line 
between the States of Pennsylvania and Delaware, and Clay- 
mont is not far away. There are few houses, and but little 
to see along the shore below for some distance. Farther 
down is an occasional villa on the Delaware bank, — some in 
lovely situations, — but they are thinly scattered, and show 
nothing like the thickly villa-lined shores of the river above 
Philadelphia. On the water the schooners are coming up, 
with sails set " wing-and-wing," there being a strong wind 
dead aft. The breeze blows off the tops of the waves in spray, 
and- makes the little skiffs careen over till their sails dip. 
Some schooners are also going down-stream, deeply coal- 
laden, and tacking across the channel to make headway, as 
the tide favors them. 

WILMINGTON AND NEWCASTLE. 

As the steamboat approaches the mouth of the Christiana, 
the hills behind Wilmington gradually change from a hazy 
blue to a dark green. The dredging is going on upon the 
Cherry Island flats, just above the Christiana, and the soil 
removed is taken into that stream and landed on the marshes 
alongside, which are thus being filled and a large amount 
of land reclaimed. Extensive work will have to be done at 
Cherry Island before the channel can be maintained at the 
requisite depth of twenty-five feet at low water, made neces- 
sary by the large steamers now coming to Philadelphia for 
cargoes. Our steamboat moves swiftly along, with almost 
everything silent excepting the constant wash of the water 
at the prow and under the wheels. Portions of the Dela- 
ware shore for several miles above Wilmington are beautiful, 
sloping up with bright green fields and groves of trees and 
occasional farm-houses. Dupont's powder wharf is passed, 
and a ferry is being established over to Pennsgrove on the 
Jersey bank, where the railway comes down from Woodbury. 
Pennsgrove is scattered along the shore, apparently with 
more trees than houses, and here begins that extensive region, 
running down to Salem, known as Penn's Neck. Not far 
above the Christiana, on the Delaware bank, are the Edge- 
s' 



54 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

moor Iron-TVorks, an extensive establishment. As we pass 
the mouth of the stream, which comes out through low 
shores, with a little light-house marking the entrance, Wil- 
mington is seen away back over the meadows and beyond the 
confluence of the Christiana and the Brandywine. Its brick 
buildings seem to lie along the base and partly up the slopes 
of the Brandywine hills, which run far away inland towards 
the northwest. 

Below Wilmington, the Delaware bank is a low green shore, 
while over on the Jersey side there is a long, narrow streak 
of yellow beach, with trees behind it. As we move along, 
the Wilmington hills become hazy at our backs, the river 
broadens, narrow sand-beaches appear on both shores, and 
there is very little to see. As the land thus ceases to be at- 
tractive, the passengers wander about the boat in search of 
amusement. They watch the machinery and stud}?- the in- 
spector's certificate, ask questions of the deck-hands, and 
some settle themselves for naps. Others wonder what the 
life-preservers are for and how they are put on. With steady 
roll the machinery moves the great wheels around, and as the 
head of the Bay is approached, there comes up an occasional 
whijBf of salt air. Lunch-baskets are got out and the chil- 
dren run about the decks and play, or invest their pennies at 
the ice-cream and cake-stands. We go through the bight 
near New Castle and steam over towards the Delaware shore 
to take a look at the city. This is said to be the only " finished 
town" in the United States. It is believed to be done grow- 
ing, and a walk through its streets discloses a sleepy state of 
affairs that would have suited Rip Van Winkle, had his lot 
been cast in Delaware. Over the town is seen the tower of 
the New Castle jail and Court-House, the latter being the 
important building that forms the centre of the arc of twelve 
miles radius that makes the northern boundary of Delaware. 
In the jail they have the whipping-post and pillory, of which 
offenders are in so much dread. The sheriff, who does the 
whipping, once showed me his " cat." It should have had 
nine tails, but had lost one of them. The eight tails remain- 
ing, he said, were fully equal to the work required, and liis 
eye sparkled as he told how he had refused to sell the whip 
for five dollars, to a reporter who wanted it for a curiosity. 
That whip makes the tramps and outlaws infesting Philadel- 



DOWN THE DELAWARE RIVER. 55 

plna give Delaware a wide berth. How many of those who 
criticise the Dekiware whipping-law can devise a cheaper or 
easier system of accomplishing its results ? Newcastle looks 
comfortable from the river, its spacious dwellings surrounded 
by trees and gardens, and out in front are the solid stone 
piers of the ice-harbor, though the final pier is yet lacking 
that will protect the entrance. In the southern suburbs of 
Newcastle are the great steel-works of the Morris and Tasker 
Company, not long since removed from Philadelphia. 

FORT DELAWARE. 

The river becomes very wide below New Castle, and far 
ahead can be sighted the Pea Patch Island, with Fort Dela- 
ware upon it. There is little to see on either side but the 
broad expanse of water and low shores. The island is in 
mid-stream, with plenty of trees upon it, but is low, like the 
distant shores of the mainland. The fort is a high stone 
structure, with barracks enclosed, their roofs appearing above 
the outer walls. As we steam along towards the little grass- 
covered islands and bar extending north of the Pea Patch 
there is a good chance to study navigation, as shown by the 
buoys anchored to mark the channel, — red ones on the Jersey 
side, black ones on the Pennsylvania side, and striped ones 
in mid-stream, — canted over by the current so that they 
show which way the tide is moving, — and also, to some ex- 
tent, marking the depth of water by the distance they pro- 
trude above the surfiice. Fort Delaware was used as a place 
of imprisonment for political offenders during the Rebellion, 
and the island covers thirty-five to forty acres, all land made 
■within a century. In the great Pea Patch lawsuit it was 
testified that the island in 1783 was "only the size of a 
man's hat," and the late Commodore Stewart used to say that 
a brig from " down East," laden with peas and beans, was 
cut through by ice in 1791 and sunk there, the cargo swell- 
ing and wrecking her. The wreck and "cargo made fast land, 
and out of them grew the Pea Patch, on which the Govern- 
ment afterwards built the great stone fort that looks so war- 
like, but which would make a modern iron -clad smile as her 
" Woolwich infants" of the present time knocked the enor- 
mously thick stone walls into ruins. The fort belongs to an 
obsolete military system, although the big black guns, lying 



56 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

on top beside their magazine-mounds, and the loopholes and 
embrasures look so warlike. A few small buildings are scat- 
tered about, and a wharf runs out on the eastern side. The 
garrison of this great fort consists of a corporal and two 
men. No flag was flying from the staff", storms having 
washed out a good deal of the colors and blown so much of 
the bunting away, that they are almost ashamed to show it, 
and somebody ought to suggest to the War Department to 
send the small but brave garrison a new one. They apparently 
don't have much to do, and their chief occupation is fishing 
and watching the hands of the clock go round towards meal- 
time. The corporal commanding Fort Delaware lives in a 
pleasant house on the northern side of the island. Just 
under the walls of the Fort is the old chapel, looking as if 
storms had treated it worse than any enemy, for its sides 
seem blown out by the gales. Thus is the dignity of the 
United States Government represented down at the head of 
Delaware Bay. 

There is not much more to see down the bay but a dreary 
waste of salt-water. Delaware City is far away to the west- 
ward, while on the Jersey shore is the dairy -land of Salem, 
with sand-beaches skirting its distant coast. Eight miles be- 
low is Reedy Island, where the bay begins to spread to wide 
proportions. Excursions go farther down than this, but it is 
over a monotonous waste of water to some of the sand- 
beaches and bathing-places on the bay-shore, where there is 
little to see. At the end of the bay are the Capes and the 
Breakwater, and beyond them the broad Atlantic. 



IX. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA EAILEOAD. 
PHILADELPHIA TO NEW YORK. 

Men of large railway experience say that the New York 
Division of the Pennsylvania Railroad is the finest railway in 
the United States. It is of solid construction, smooth, free 
from dust, and carries an enormous traffic. For long sectiojis 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 57 

it is composed of three, and in many localities of four tracks, 
and already the plans are being made for laying down four 
tracks throughout, two for passenger travel exclusively, and 
two for the freight traffic. Let us make a journey over this 
magnificent line, and start from the new but yet incomplete 
station near Broad and Market Streets. We go over the 
Elevated road built alongside Filbert Street, which obstructs 
no street, and aided by the higher gradient west of the river 
is elevated sufficiently to bridge over all that it crosses. We 
ride out over its stately line of brick arches ; pass the Gas- 
Works, and cross the Schuylkill on the new and high bridge, 
which brings the tracks to the western bank just north of the 
grain-elevator. The road curves around on an embankment 
through the West Philadelphia railway-yard, crossing over 
streets and tracks by successive bridges, past shops and round- 
house, and running into the main line north of the old West 
Philadelphia station. As we go through the great yard with 
its evidences of vast traffic spread out on either hand, fiir off 
to the eastward, over the river and the city, can be seen the 
bronze dome of the Cathedral, its golden cross glistening in 
the sunshine, while the broad white tops of the new City Hall 
stand up farther to the right hand. The train darts swiftly 
under the Spring Garden Street bridge, and curves around 
the boundary of the Zoological Garden, its lake and orna- 
mented houses and shrubbery passing in review as we skirt 
along the outer edge. The big buffalo raises his head and 
bellows at the locomotive, as if he would like to try conclu- 
sions with the snorting and fierce-looking machine. Then 
we swiftly run over Girard Avenue, and the Park road, and 
go out upon the elevated and airy bridge across the Schuyl- 
kill ; then over the Reading Railroad and into the hills be- 
yond, through the green banks and fields of the East Park. 
The train runs under Columbia and Ridge Avenues, and along 
the edge of the Odd-Fellows' Cemetery, and past the Muni- 
cipal Hospital with its smallpox patients off to the northward, 
and through a region of market-gardens and truck-fields until 
the Germantown Railroad is reached. We stop a moment 
among the brick-yards and lumber-piles of Germantown 
Junction, and then start up again across Broad Street and 
Germantown Road, and, with accelerated speed, rush through 
the northern suburbs towards Frankford, traversing any num- 



58 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

ber of streets, some passing over and some under the railroad. 
The train rattles across the North Pennsylvania Railroad, past 
the Potter oil-cloth works, and over both the street railways 
to Frankford, then curving around to the northward and 
receiving the Kensington branch, it rushes over the long 
bridge and trestle that span Frankford Creek and the adja- 
cent lowlands, and then through the town itself. 

GREAT MILLS AND ADVERTISING. 

Among the mills and houses we go, and then, leaving 
Frankford behind, the " long-legged locomotive," of the new 
and gigantic pattern, sixty-two feet long, drawing us a mile a 
minute, rolls smoothly over the track towards Bristol. The 
watchmen wave their white flags at every road-crossing, and 
through villages, past fields and farms, we glide, gradually 
Hearing the Delaware River, the Bridesburg Arsenal flag 
standing out in the breeze above the trees as we pass. The 
great city seems to spread far up the river-bank beyond 
Bridesburg and Tacony, as we dart by the great industrial 
establishments and their outlying villages, filled with the 
little houses of the operatives. The Fitler cordage-works, 
Disston's great Keystone saw-works, and Rowland's steel- 
works, with many others, pass in review, and then the outer 
edge of built-up Philadelphia seems to be reached when the 
train runs along the verge of the broad farm that adjoins 
the placid Pennypack, on whose pleasant shores stand the 
huge brick buildings of the House of Correction, with the 
Delaware for a background. Beyond this, the railway is 
laid through a richly fertile and highly-cultivated level plain, 
running back some distance from the river, with the home- 
steads of the well-to-do residents dotted over their garden- 
lands. Everything is luxuriant and smiling as we glide by 
the fields, and the pretty little stations flit past the car-win- 
dows. The delicious shade at Torresdale, on the river-bank, 
arrests the attention a moment as the train crosses the foam- 
ing creek that runs down through the village ; and then, in 
going over the almost level land, a chance is given to study 
the labors of the advertiser ; for Wanamaker and Yates, and 
their rival clothiers, have converted much lumber into 
immense signs set up in the fields, and Dr. Schenck has 
painted his prescriptions upon most of the barns and out- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 59 

buildings in the neigliborhood. Passing Andalusia and Ed- 
dington we cross the broad Neshaminy, nineteen miles out, 
and go by one of the finest villas on the upper Delaware. 
To the right of the railway rises the elaborate house, with 
its ornamental cupola, among the trees, and the tastefully 
decorated grounds spread far down the creek towards the 
Delaware. This is Dr. Schenck's estate and station, but its 
projector has gone to his final resting-place. 

BLOOMSDALE AND ITS BUSINESS. 

The train rushes through Bristol, with the turnpike along- 
side, and over the Delaware Division Canal and Mill Creek, 
and past mills, houses, and depots that seem an almost indefi- 
nite mass they glide so quickly by the car-windows. Out 
beyond the town can be seen across the river the Florence 
Heights on the Jersey shore, with a steamboat just making 
a lauding, and then the railroad, before traversing the neck 
of land towards Trenton, crosses the great seed-farm at 
Bloomsdale. On both sides of the line the land is covered 
with growing seed crops of all kinds, and many people are at 
work. This farm of the Landreths, which grows seeds that 
are sent to all parts of the globe, is the pride of Bucks 
County, through which our train is now moving. It covers 
six hundred acres of land, stretching from the Delaware 
Biver back across the level plain, and is the greatest seed- 
growing farm in the world. The railway goes through the 
centre, while the fields extend westward to the Delaware 
Division Canal. There is also an adjacent tract of land on 
the Jersey shore. Here they plant sixty to one hundred 
acres in cabbage for seed, eighty acres of turnips, five acres 
of salads, forty acres of spinach, forty-five acres of beets, 
thirty-five acres of onions, enough parsnips to make two 
hundred bushels of seeds, thirty-five acres of radishes, four- 
teen acres of lima-beans, thirty acres of tomatoes, six acres 
of peppers, five acres of flowers of various kinds, and other 
crops in proportion. About one hujidred and seventy per- 
sons are employed on the farm, and the ordinary grains, po- 
tatoes, and grasses are not raised here, all the land being 
taken up with seed crops. Big barns, drying- and store- 
houses are spread out on the farm, and this Philadelphia 
enterprise, originally started in a small way on a little farm 



60 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

down the " iJ^eck," lias grown to such immense proportions 
that it not only supplies the United States and Europe, but 
also sends many tons of seeds to the East Indies and Cape of 
Good Hope. South America and Australasia. 

Leaving this square mile of gardens behind, we pass Tully- 
town and cross the neck back of Penn's Manor, still speed- 
ing through the level and highly-cultivated plain. On the 
left hand the Delaware Division Canal and its plodding mules 
and barges keep us close company, while to the right the 
Delaware River soon comes in sight again, with the city of 
Trenton spread out on the opposite shore. The railway 
curves around through Morrisville and crosses the great Dela- 
ware bridge to South Trenton. This is the chief bridge that 
crosses the river, the navigation interests preventing their 
construction at any place below Trenton. It is a wrought- 
iron railway and carriage bridge, and replaced Wernwag's 
bridge, erected in 1803. This was a covered wooden bridge 
of five irregular spans, originally built for a carriage road, of 
timber-arched ribs, from which the roadway was suspended 
by iron bars. It was a celebrated bridge in its day, and 
existed for forty-five years, until, in 1848, the railway came 
along and necessitated a change. The south side of the bridge 
was then arranged for the cars and strengthened, and in this 
condition the bridge remained for twenty years more, when 
the covering was taken off and new arches put in the railroad 
portion. Some of the original timbers of 1808 still remain 
in the carriage portion. The increase of trafiic necessitating 
further improvement the present wrought-iron bridge of three 
trusses was built while trains ran over it, and was finished in 
1875, so that there is now a double-track railway crossing, as 
well as a carriage road, the bridge being nearly eight hundred 
feet long. A timber screen masks the carriage road from the 
cars, and also cuts off the view of Trenton along the shore 
up the river ; but below, the wharves and iron-works of the 
town are spread out for a brief period as we quickly pass 
through the bridge and run into the deep cutting in South 
Trenton that conducts the railway through a series of short 
tunnels under the town, the canals, and most of the streets, 
and prevents our seeing much of the city but its conical- 
topped pottery- kilns. 

Formerly the main railway ran along the Raritan Canal 



TEE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 61 

bank, through Trenton and across New Jersey to the Karitan 
River, but the present shorter and straightcr route was con- 
structed some time ago. Passing the station, the railway 
begins ascending the grade from the Dehxware Valley, and 
the Belviderc Delaware Railroad starts out northward, while 
near by are the high trestles and shutes for transferring its 
coal into the cars of other lines. On the south side of the 
road is the stock-farm where they keep blooded horses, and 
beyond this the train rapidly traverses a level country, well 
cultivated, but having plenty of woodland. Trains, west- 
bound, both passenger and freight, constantly pass us, show- 
ing the enormous traffic of the line. 

PRINCETON AND NASSAU HALL. 

Soon can be seen, far away to the northward over the level 
plain, the steeples of Princeton rising apparently out of a 
park, so thick is the foliage around them. Princeton is three 
miles away from the main road, and a branch line leads out 
from the quiet town, and joins the main track forty-two miles 
from Philadelphia. Princeton is not a large town, but it is 
pleasantly situated not far beyond the canal, and contains 
some elegant residences. It is chiefly prominent, however, 
as the seat of the College of New Jersey, better known as 
Nassau Hall or Princeton College, over which Dr. James 
McCosh, who came from Belfast in 1868, presides with so 
much success. Opened at Elizabeth in 1747, this College 
was transferred to Nassau Hall, in Princeton, in 1757, and 
around the ancient building raged the final skirmish of the 
battle of Princeton in 1777, although the main contest, in 
which General Mercer fell, was fought some distance from 
the town, on the road to Trenton. The old Hall was burned 
in 1802, and rebuilt, but again burned in 1855. The College 
has recently had most liberal endowments, and very fine 
buildings now surround its campus, the Library and the 
School of Science being the most imposing. Dr. AVither- 
spoon, who was its President during the Revolution, was a 
signer of the Declaration of Independence, and its early 
graduates included two other signers, Richard Stockton and 
Benjamin Rush. The Presbyterian Theological Seminary is 
also at Princeton. 

6 



62 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

The railway still runs over an almost level plain, passing 
much swampy ground and land overflowed from the recent 
rains. The train makes high speed on the smooth straight 
track, over the solid stone-ballasted roadway, with a constant 
procession of west-bound trains darting by on the other 
tracks. We rush over the water-troughs and past frequent 
detachments of workmen laboring on the line, and then, at 
forty-eight miles from Philadelphia, pass Monmouth Junction. 
Here starts eastward the railway leading to Freehold and the 
settlements along the Northern New Jersey coast at Ocean 
Grove and Long Branch. We pass through much woods, 
with interspersed clearings beyond Monmouth Junction, and 
also see the first evidences of New Jersey brownstone while 
still crossing the level plain. Approaching Millstone Junc- 
tion, there can be seen far away to the northwest the hazy 
outline of the hills that are the southern spurs of the Blue 
Ridge, and as we look at them the train begins crossing the 
strata of dark red soils that spread across New Jersey and 
Pennsylvania. Approaching the Raritan River, the railway 
passes over a gently rolling country with frequent little brooks 
flowing through it. 

RUTGERS COLLEGE AND MENLO PARK. 

Over the dark red soil we run swiftly through New Bruns- 
wick, fifty-eight miles from Philadelphia, and cross its streets 
diagonally, skirting the corner of the church and the college- 
grounds just before rushing past the station. We have been 
going through the county of Middlesex, and New Brunswick 
is its county-seat, a thriving town, on the western bank of 
the Raritan River, at the head of navigation, and where the 
Delaware and Raritan Canal comes in. Here are great Vic- 
tories on the low grounds along the canal and river-banks, 
wdiile a handsome town is built on the higher ground, which, 
like a crescent, encircles the older parts. The college build- 
ings and grounds we are rushing by so unceremoniously are 
those of Rutgers College, the ancient and royal Queen's Col- 
lege of 1770, but given its present name in 1825, when Col- 
onel Henry Rutgers made the handsome endowment for those 
days of five thousand dollars. It has recently had fine new 
buildings and been assisted by ample endowments, while the 
New Jersey State Agricultural College was established fifteen 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 63 

years ago as an additional department, together with an ex- 
perimental farm of one hundred acres. North of Rutgers 
and in a commanding position is the Theological Seminary of 
the Dutch Reformed Church, with its fine buildings, Hertzog 
and Suydam Halls. But in much less time than it takes to 
tell the story, we dart through New Brunswick and out upon 
the elevated bridge across the canal-basin and the Raritan 
River. Along the western bank the canal-basin is spread 
out, on a higher level than the river, with locks above, where 
the canal enters, and also below, where the barges are let out 
into the river itself The chocolate-colored stream, bearing 
on its bosom much soil washed out by the recent rains, flows 
down through wooded banks, and below the railway, near 
where the canal-basin ends, it is crossed by a road bridge. 
The shores swing around towards the south, with the town 
on the right and the woods on the left, and the turgid waters 
seek an o'utlet in the Raritan Bay, fifteen miles below. 

paving crossed to East Brunswick, we begin to see the 
evidences of the large suburban travel out of New York in 
the number of local trains that come as far as the Raritan, 
and are there laid up. The railway now runs through a 
populous region, passing many large towns and villages. 
Men are chipping out the red sandstone from the roadside, 
and the train again runs over a level country. At Metuchen 
we cross the Lehigh Valley Railroad, which goes down to 
the seacoast at Amboy to unload the black diamonds from 
the Lehigh coal region. Still passing the red soils, frequent 
villages flit by, each with its little church, the tall spires 
pointing upward, as Tom Corwin used to say, like so many 
lightning-rods to avert the wrath of . Heaven, as we draw 
nearer the modern Babylon at New York. The train passes 
Menlo Park, sixty-five miles from Philadelphia, and here on 
the embankment to the northward of the railway are^ the 
houses and laboratory and shops of the famous wizard Edison, 
who has got much of the fame of the electric light while 
other men have been establishing it. Scores of his little 
globes set up on lamp-posts are scattered about the grounds, 
glittering in the sunlight, and at night they shine out like so 
many radiant stars. Here was the Mecca of many a specu- 
lating pilgrim a year or two ago, who desired to be the me- 
dium of making electric science financially advantageous on 



64 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the stock exchange ; and here Edison and his" friends shouted 
" Eureka !" several months too soon. 

RAHWAY AND ELIZABETH. 

We pass Perth Amboy Junction, whence a branch road 
leads to Perth Amboy, down on the coast, and, as we go by 
the frequent elaborate stations, with their lawns and gardens, 
we study the aesthetic tastes cultivated by the Pennsylvania 
Company in these later days of railroading. Some of these 
gardens are perfect little gems, and they are spread along the 
railway at almost all the suburban stations on this part of the 
line. The train runs into Rahway, along a street bordered 
with double sets of immense telegraph-poles, looking not un- 
like the great ship-masts that are distributed along Tenth 
Street, near the Western Union office in Philadelphia. The 
railway crosses most of the streets of this pleasant town diag- 
onally, and cuts a good many house-lots bias. We are now in 
Union County, New Jersey, and this is one of its principal 
towns, built on the narrow little Rahway River, and being 
mainly a carriage manufactory. It turns out more wagons 
and carriages from its eighteen or twenty factories than any 
town of its size in the country ; and it has been indulging in 
various political luxuries to such an extent, recently, that the 
whole city is in danger of being sold out by the sheriff to 
satisfy the holders of its defaulted municipal bonds. We 
rush by its elaborate station, with the broad lawns and flower- 
beds, cross the little river, and are soon out of town. An- 
other fine station is passed at Scott Avenue, in the suburbs, 
and we again speed along the level land, past villages almost 
without number. At Linden there is a beautiful church, 
with a fine spire, just south of the railway as we approach 
its pretty station. Far away to the southward, across the 
level plain, can be seen the Highlands of the Navesink and 
Staten Island. Then the villages gradually condense into 
Elizabeth, another New Jersey city almost bankrupted by 
too much municipal debt, and as we come to the station the 
train passes almost near enough to touch the modest house 
occupied by the ancient Rolla fire-engine, Elizabeth is the 
county-seat of Union County, and is almost entirely a rural 
suburb of New York, whose merchants come out to sleep in 
the comfortable houses on its broad and shady streets, vfhile 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 65 

tliey spend tlicir business days in the metropolis. It spreads, 
under the name of Elizabuthport, down to the sound, and 
over there are most of the fiictories, and also the great coal- 
shipping wharves to which much of the Heading coal is sent. 
It is an ancient town, the original settlement on the banks of 
the little Elizabeth River antedating Philadelphia nearly 
twenty years. In the heart of the city we cross the tracks 
of the New Jersey Central Railroad, which runs down to 
Elizabethport, and thence by a long trestle-bridge over New- 
ark Bay to Bergen Point and out to the Hudson River at 
Communipaw. Our railway crosses the streets and house- 
lots diagonally, as in Railway, and passes the rows of sub- 
urban villas on either hand that line all the roads and streets 
far out of town. Lawns and gardens and pleasant groves sur- 
round the villas, while mansard-roofs, many of them highly 
ornamented, are the rule. Far south of the railroad over the 
level surface can be seen the meadows surrounding Newark, 
with Staten Island beyond, across the Kill von Kull. 

NEWARK AND THE MEADOWS. ^ 

Still running over the red soils we approach the Passaic 
River, which is their eastern border, and the great town of 
Newark, the chief city of New Jersey, spreads out before us, 
both to the north and south of the railway, while to the north- 
ward its suburbs extend up on the hills towards Orange. We 
have come into the county of Essex. Past rows of suburban 
homes we run into the city, and glide rapidly by its immense 
fjictories spread on both sides of the railway. Newark is a 
large manufacturing city, and the Morris Canal brings the 
coal of the Lehigh region into the heart of the town. It is 
also a great suburban outlet for New York, and has, besides 
its manufacturing and business sections, a considerable area 
covered with handsome and comfortable residences, through 
which runs its finest avenue. Broad Street. This magnificent 
highway, one hundred and thirty-two feet wide, bordered 
with many ornate buildings and shaded by majestic trees, 
skirts three attractive parks embowered with elms. Newark, 
too, antedates Philadelphia in settlement, but few who know 
it now would suppose that it had a strictly Puritan origin. 
We run past the Market Street station, eighty miles from 
Philadelphia, at high speed, the line being carefullv fenced 
e 6* 



66 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

in. Out over tlie canal we go, and upon the iron bridge 
across the Passaic River, which flows down to Newark Bay, 
four miles below, and has quite a number of steamboats tied 
to its wharves, while the city extends along its shores as 
far as eye can see, both north and south. Down the river 
can be seen the smoky chimneys of the factories, while on the 
opposite shore there is scarcely a building. 

We cross to Hudson County and its meadows, which 
spread like a prairie far away on both sides of the line. We 
are again in a region of elaborate advertising, but the signs 
bear the unfamiliar names of New York firms. Here the 
Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad crosses the 
Passaic just above us, and keeps the Pennsylvania line close 
company over the meadows. Away off to the southward can 
be seen the long trestle-bridge of the New Jersey Central 
Railroad over Newark Bay, while to the northward the prairie 
seems to spread to the highlands back of the Palisades along 
the Hudson. Here our railway gradually spreads out into a 
broad expanse of tracks, and thousands of freight cars of all 
kinds are being made up into trains, for we are approaching 
the terminus, while to the northward of the line are the ex- 
tensive Meadows Shops, and we rush by the great round- 
houses and construction buildings. These shops extend nearly 
a third of a mile along the railroad, and fifteen acres are cov- 
ered with the buildings in which is done the repairing for the 
New Jersey lines of the Pennsylvania Railroad. A round- 
house stands at either end, one a circle of three hundred feet. 
in diameter, with forty-four converging tracks, and the other 
a semicircle of two hundred and sixteen feet radius, with 
nineteen converging tracks. An immense building, four hun- 
dred by one hundred and thirty-five feet, contains most of the 
repairing departments, and here are laid twenty parallel lines 
of rails on which the cars stand while work is being done. 
These rails lead out to a transfer- table, laid in a pit, four hun- 
dred and eighty feet long, and which moves the cars to all 
parts of the works. On the other side of this pit are three 
big buildings, used for the machine-shop, planing-mill, and 
erecting-shop. There is a large smith's shop, and in these 
works are employed over a thousand men. At these Meadows 
Shops, which are four miles from the Hudson River, the 
trafiic of the great railway is divided, and the freight and 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 67 

passenger business runs to the terminus separately. The 
shops, depots, and store-houses extend down to the edge of 
the Hackensack River, which flows through the meadows. 
We cross the Hackensack on a long bridge and trestle, with 
a road bridge above us, and just beyond it the bridge of the 
Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Kailway, over which a 
train is rushing westward towards Newark. 

BERGEN HILL AND JERSEY CITY. 

The train passes the village of Marion and runs into the 
deep and crooked rocky cutting through Bergen Hill. The 
railway zigzags through on short curves, swinging the cars 
from side to side, but work is progressing at straightening 
the line by making a broad new cutting southward of the 
present line. It is a task of great difficulty, however, for the 
roadway has to be bored through the solid rock. Here in 
the heart of the hill the railway divides, the lines for the 
freight traffic going northward towards the extensive wharves 
and docks at Harsimus Cove. Plenty of trains pass, show- 
ing how busy the line is, and we run out of the cutting and 
curve around on the side of the hill and enter the suburbs 
of Jersey City. Here the meadows to the southward extend 
down to Communipaw, with vacant land between, and over 
in the lower part of the Hudson River can be seen Ellis's 
Island and Bedloe's Island. We are now fairly in Jersey 
City, and run along between rows of houses, whose little 
back-yards border the railway ; and where they seem to have 
a perpetual wash-day, the different families in each story and 
even each room of these tenement-houses rigging the wash- 
clothes upon lines extended on pulleys between the upper 
windows. There they flutter in the wind like so many flags 
of truce, regardless of the soot flying from the locomotives. 
As we gradually come down to the level of the street the 
road is fenced in on both sides, with gates for the street- 
crossings, past which the train rushes at almost full speed. 
Huge factories line the streets, for Jersey City, too, is a 
great manufacturing town, and has been mainly built up 
by the overflow from New York. Here the great railways 
from the West come out upon the Hudson, and are con- 
nected by ferries with the metropolis. Here are the capa- 
cious Pennsylvania and Erie Railway docks and elevators, 



^68 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

where vast amounts of freight are transshipped to vessels 
for export to Europe. The immense stock-yards and abat- 
toir, where the meat is slaughtered for the New York market, 
are in the northern part of the town. The largest ferry- 
boats in the world carry the enormous passenger traffic of 
these great railways over the Hudson from Jersey City, and 
the railways have huge terminal stations communicating with 
the ferry-slips. Jersey City is only a modern town. The 
neck of land on which it stands is the old Paulus Hook, 
where barely a dozen persons lived at the beginning of the 
present century, and it was not until 1820 that the settle- 
ment became of any size, while thirty years ago it was still 
only a village. Since then the overflow of New York, and 
especially the vast growth of the railways, have made it a very 
large place, and the second city of New Jersey. 

The train runs swiftly into the big station, six hundred 
and twenty feet long, that ends the great railway eighty- 
eight miles from Philadelphia. Here can be seen the vast 
spread of its traffic, for there are passenger-cars of the Balti- 
more and Ohio and New Jersey Midland Railways in the 
station, both getting their New York outlet over the Penn- 
sylvania lines. The train empties out into the ferry-slips 
and waiting-rooms. In the latter, which are spacious and 
well-appointed, hundreds are waiting for departing trains, 
being occasionally startled by the sonorous voices of train- 
men, who make their announcements with immense noise, 
but with a peculiar inflection, flourish, and echo of the voice 
that is so much Greek to most of the passengers. It has 
long been a problem to me why the English language is 
made such a strange and unfamiliar tongue by some who 
dispense it in loud sounding driblets in railway public waiting- 
rooms. At the head of the ferry-slips is a broad avenue 
four hundred feet long and sixty feet wide, covered over and 
giving ample room for the crowds to walk about, and across 
it the multitudes go to and from the boats. I have seen an 
entire regiment of troops manoeuvre and countermarch in 
this Jersey City ferry-house while waiting for the boat to 
New York. But there is nearly always a steamer in the slip 
to take you uptown or down-town, as may be wished, and 
the train pouring out its stream of people, they quickly move 
upon the boats, and are ferried over to the great city. 



LONG BRANCH. 69 

X. 

LONG BKANCH.. 
THE NORTHERN NEW JERSEY COAST. 

The seacoast of Northern New Jersey for fully twenty 
miles south of Sandy Hook has become a succession of sum- 
mer watering-places. The bluffs and beaches from Seabright, 
at the Navesink, down to Sea Girt and the Manasquan Inlet, 
are all now occupied as summer resorts, so that the older and 
more famous town of Long Branch has plenty of neighbors. 
There is Monmouth Beach and Seabright to the northward ; 
and Deal, Ocean Grove, Asbury Park, Ocean Beach, Spring 
Lake, and Sea Girt to the southward. Let us take a journey 
to this famous resort at Long Branch, which was first occu- 
pied as a watering-place nearly a century ago by Philadel- 
phians, though it has only attained its present prominence 
during the past twenty years. The earlier Philadelphia resi- 
dents, who discovered and set the watering-place fashion for 
the Long Branch blufi", built their houses out beyond the 
present bluif line, on land that the sea has long since washed 
away. Steadily the waves make encroachments on the shore, 
and the great storms of last winter and the one in early June 
made serious inroads upon the bluff, washing deep gullies and 
causing the inhabitants to renew their oft-repeated discussions 
as to the best method of preventing further encroachments. 
To reach this famous blufi" from Philadelphia there are sev- 
eral routes, and I took the Pennsylvania Bailroad line, which 
leaves the main railroad from Philadelphia to New York at 
Monmouth Junction, about forty-eight miles from Philadel- 
phia. Here the train takes a road running southeast towards 
the seacoast, through Middlesex and Monmouth Counties, 
and known by the unique title of the " Freehold and James- 
burg Agricultural Railroad." It passes over a flat country, 
and runs into the old Camden and Amboy Railroad at James- 
burg. This was the original route of chief railroad travel 
between the two great cities, and over it many of our older 



•70 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

generation have gone in the trains from BorJentown to 
Amboy, that took six or eight hours to do the journey between 
the great cities, the train being drawn by an old-time " gig- 
top" locomotive, and being made up of cars fitted with " pet- 
ticoats," to keep down the dust. Jamesburg is a pretty little 
village, the lower part being alongside a lake, which tapers 
off into a series of Swampy ponds, almost covered with lilies. 
Beyond Jamesburg the railroad runs to Freehold, still through 
a flat country, with occasional villages, and past the little 
knoll surmounted by the ancient Tennent Church and th.Q old 
Monmouth battle-ground, where the land slopes gently down 
from the ridges where the battle was fought to a little brook 
which runs under the railroad. Freehold is an attractive 
town, covering considerable ground, and built mainly of 
wooden houses. It has its own special railroad running 
northward to New York. There is a fair agricultural fegion 
around Freehold, while beyond it the railroad goes through 
a land of fruit-trees and peach orchards. Below here, off to 
the right, is the Manasquan Biver running down to the ocean, 
and at Farmingdale the railroad crosses the New Jersey 
Southern road, another route to Long Branch, which comes 
up from Southern New Jersey, and a couple of miles south 
of Farmingdale passes through the well-known and often- 
quoted village of Squankum, which is not far away from the 
Manasquan River. We next go through a country mostly 
covered with pine woods, but having large tracts reclaimed 
for agriculture. There are long ranks of cord-wood piled by 
the roadside ready for shipment, and an occasional fine wheat- 
field relieves the view. We pass Squan, and, after skirting 
the Manasquan Inlet running down to the sea, the railway 
turns northward to Sea Girt, the little life-saving station 
being seen at the entrance to the inlet out on the ocean- 
shore. 

Sea Girt has an extensive railway station, and down at the 
ocean-side can be seen its great hotel, the Beach House, two 
immense buildings constructed alike, rising above the trees, 
each with a surmounting lookout-place. Between the two is 
a low building used for the hotel office. The sea- waves dash 
up to the very edge of the immense piazza, four hundred feet 
long, and here, long before the locality was thought of for a 
watering-place, Commodore Stockton selected it as his sum- 



LONG BRANCH. 71 

mer seaside home. The old mansion is now the hotel office, 
overshadowed by the gig-antic house on either side. The 
coast above the hotel is fringed with buildings, including the 
fine new Tremont Hotel. Just north of Sea Girt the rail- 
way crosses Wreck Pond Inlet, with quite a nest of pretty 
cottages, known as Villa Park, on its northern bank. An- 
other town with its big hotel is out on the ocean front. Here 
is Spring Lake, the land perfectly flat, though the lake is a 
little gem set just inside the ocean, and signs at the station 
tell the visitor of " Boats to hire" and " Choice lots for sale." 
Tlie railway continues a short distance farther, over more 
flat land with interspersed pieces of woodland, till it comes 
to Ocean Beach. The shore is skirted with hotels and villas, 
and Ocean Beach appears as an extensive town of comfortable- 
looking frame cottages. Shark Biver Inlet is behind and 
north of this thriving settlement, and the train crosses it on 
a pile-bridge. This is an inlet with irregular shores, and its 
broad expanse of water contains several grass-covered islands. 
North of this inlet there are a succession of villages which 
finally develop into Asbury Park. Ocean Grove is on the 
shore, south of Asbury Park, the Wesley Lake lying between 
the two settlements ; but the Grove does not extend out to 
the railroad, though the same railway station answers for 
both, and hundreds of people come out to see the train land 
its passengers. Just before arriving at the station we cross 
the head-waters of Wesley Lake, and just after leaving it 
the railway passes over the two little streams that form Sunset 
Lake, and down over the water of the latter the ocean can 
be seen, with a steamer f\ir out at sea making rapid speed 
towards New York. Broad avenues are laid out, along 
which you can look from the car-windows to the ocean front, 
and, judging by the lively air of everything hereabouts, 
Ocean Grove and Asbury Park are brisk business towns in 
the summer-time. Next we come to Deal Beach, where 
there is a fine station, but we look in vain for the town. 
There is an enclosure fenced in alongside of the railway, 
where they have pigeon-shooting matches, and the ocean is 
in full view in front of us, with the vessels sailing by. Soon 
can be seen ofi" to the right the cottages along the shore at 
the southern or west end of Long Branch, known as Elberon. 
The railroad gradually approaches the shore, which is an un- 



72 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

broken row of villas on the ocean front, and it passes the 
two stations of Elberon and West End, which are established 
for the benefit of this part of Long Branch. Along the 
shore can be seen from the latter station the pinnacles of the 
West End and Rowland Hotels. A few minutes more and 
we stop at Long Branch station. 

THE LONG BRANCH BLUFF. 

Long Branch is a town stretched for five miles along Ocean 
Avenue, the great driveway that is on the edge of the bluff' 
bordering the Atlantic. The hotels and cottages in the older 
part of the town are back of the avenue, with little lawns 
and gardens in front, and a narrow strip of greensward bor- 
ders the avenue just at the edge of the bluff", with an occa- 
sional pavilion or summer-house erected on its brink. Below, 
at the foot of the steep bluff, the waves roll in and the bath- 
houses are placed on the narrow beach. Some distance inland 
a small and irregular stream of water with a series of narrow 
little lakes in its course flows northward to Shrewsbury Biver. 
This, known as the " long branch" of that river, has probably 
given the place its name. There are few ocean views more 
pleasing than that from the succession of porches and verandas 
that front the long array of fine buildings on Ocean Avenue ; 
and its unusual character strikes the visitor whose idea of 
the seashore has hitherto been mainly formed by looking at 
barren sand beaches. Just outside the lawn at your feet runs 
the broad driveway, with its briskly- moving equipages and 
the outer border of telegraph-poles. Beyond is the narrow 
strip of lawn on the edge of the bluff, and its little summer- 
houses. The surf booms on the beach below, but the bluff 
is too high for most of it to be seen in front. To the right 
and left, as far as eye can see, there is the broad road and its 
green borders and succession of telegraph-poles stretched out, 
with the white-topped waves rolling in and tumbling over 
into breakers. To the northward is the Iron Pier, where the 
steamboat " City of Richmond," with its flags flying, is just 
curving around to get a fair start on its voyage to New York, 
a journey occupying about two hours. Out beyond, the ocean 
spreads to the horizon with hundreds of vessels in sight, and 
several steamers, southward-bound from New York harbor, 
leaving their long black smoke-lines against the sky as they 



LONG BRANCH. 73 

crawl like little specks upon the water. Let us walk out to 
the edge of the bluff, where the steep bank goes down about 
twenty feet to the little beach where the surf is booming, the 
edge of the bluff showing evidence in its gullies and washouts 
of the constant abrasion by the surface drainage as well as 
sea- water. The breakers roll in, almost beneath your feet, 
and the long lines of white surf are seen for miles on either 
hand ; yet it is white only for a narrow space along the edge 
of the bluff, for the beach is shelving and the waves come 
closely in before breaking. Having seen this, turn around 
and look behind at the stately row of hotels and villas stretch- 
ing to the right and left along the avenue, some with mansard- 
roofs and ornamental cornices and eaves, while the older ones 
are flat- topped, or peaked and shingled. The grass grows 
down to the edge of the sea, for this is all good, fertile land, 
and sustains behind the houses fine trees and a luxuriant 
vegetation. As the sun shines over the broad sea the western 
sky shows a golden-hued sunset, and the reflection striking 
the white sails of the vessels makes the ocean look as if it 
bore a hundred burning ships with purple clouds above them. 
This coast has had, like all others, its tales of shipwreck. 
There are two photographs in almost every house at Long 
Branch, one of the Red Star steamer " Russland," that came 
ashore near where we stand, in March, 1877, and soon after- 
wards went to pieces ; the other of the French steamer " Amer- 
ique," that came ashore in January of the same year, just 
north of Long Branch, yet after four months' exertion and 
the expenditure of a vast sum of money, was finally pulled 
off and is still crossing the Atlantic on the route to Havre. 
She was not saved until after the " Russland" had gone to 
pieces. Both went ashore through mistaking Long Branch 
lights for those supposed to be at Sandy Hook entrance. 

LONG BRANCH VILLAS AND HOTELS. 

Let us begin at the eastern side of the town and bluff, and 
take a survey along it until the bluff fades away into Deal 
Beach beyond the aristocratic West End. It is not to be sup- 
posed that Long Branch exists only along the edge of the 
sea, for, on the contrary, it is a thriving, permanent settle- 
ment, having at least six thousand regular inhabitants, and 
spreading far back to and beyond the railroads. In fact, the 
D 7 



74 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

village of East Long Branch, wliicli is passed in going inland 
towards the northward, is quite a thriving town, and, although 
lowlands and marshes environ it, the houses are plentiful. In 
going about Long Branch the names of Richard J. Dobbins 
and John Hoey are frequently mentioned as the chief prop- 
erty-owners. Our Philadelphia builder is the owner of no 
less than five large hotels, besides almost countless cottages, 
while Mr. John Hoey has made his Long Branch home prob- 
ably the finest private park in the United States. The east 
end of Long Branch is now a plot of vacant ground. The 
East End Hotel, which formerly stood there, has been taken 
down. Moving westward we come to the great Iron Pier, 
extending six hundred and sixty feet into the ocean, and 
ornamented with rows of flags. Its broad surface forms a 
promenade, and along the edge of the bluff it is flanked on 
either hand by a wide series of summer-houses. Here at the 
pier-head we pass the Ocean House, and west of it the Man- 
sion House. Then, with interspersed cottages, come the 
United States, the Atlantic, and lauch's Hotels. Farther on 
we pass a low cottage with double porches, not very pretty to 
look at, but which has the honor of having been the first 
built at Long Branch, — the Stockton Cottage, — now occupied 
by Professor Pancoast, of Philadelphia. The broad front of 
the Howland House is next passed, and, adjoining it, the 
West End Hotel and its Annex. The Ocean Avenue, by a 
bend, goes between the latter buildings, and the pyramid 
towers on top of the Annex, with its fine construction, can 
be seen to advantage. These towers are visible from the 
railroad far inland ; and in this gorgeous building, which is 
the finest hotel on the Jersey coast, magnificent accommoda- 
tions can be had at magnificent prices. The floors are let in 
flats, and the telephone summons the meals for each apart- 
ment, if the occupant does not want to personally hunt them 
up. Back of this stately Annex, and upon a broad lawn, is 
the smaller but equally gorgeous" Chalet by the Sea," where 
the denizen who feels his money to be a burden goes to " fight 
the tiger," the business being just now conducted, I am told, 
under Philadelphia auspices. Far away inland is the squatty- 
looking stand pipe of the Long Branch water- works. 



LONG BRANCH. '75 



THE WEST END AND ELBERON. 

We are now in the newer part of the town, and Ocean 
Avenue runs westward, with rows of villas on cither hand, 
those on the left facing the sea and having their summer- 
houses on the edge of the bluff. These villas are surrounded 
by extensive grounds, and their owners think nothing of in- 
vesting fifty to one hundred thousand dollars in a single 
establishment. In f\ict, the West End of Long Branch has 
a large part of the great wealth of New York to enrich 
it, for, although Philadelphia first began the settlement, 
there are but few Philadelphia cottagers at Long Branch 
now. In the hundreds of villas that are passed as we pro- 
ceed along the avenue there are several of note. The 
Drexel cottage is a square building, surmounted with a 
cupola, running vines being prettily trained over the porches, 
and red-painted flower-pots set about the grounds. Three 
stately villas to the westward, with a large stable adjoining, 
are located in ample grounds, and were built at a cost of 
forty thousand dollars apiece, by J. W. Curtis, out of the 
profits of that well-known medicine, " Mrs. Winslow's Sooth- 
ing Syrup." Life-Saving Station No. 5 is just beyond, and 
the steamer " Russland" came ashore almost in front of it. 
We cross Green's Pond, a tidal stream, which is to be dammed 
and made into a lake, and beyond it the rows of elaborate 
villas on either hand continue. The Pullman palace-car 
profits have built for their inventor a beautiful cottage with 
surmounting cupolas on the right-hand side of the avenue. 
On the ocean front is the Swiss chalet, known as " Sea Cliif 
Villa," a broad and comfortable house, with surrounding 
piazzas, where Mr. Childs passes the summer. Hedges en- 
close the lawn, while adjoining is a wilderness of trees, be- 
hind which rises the dark red roof of the cottage which a 
few years ago was the summer capital of the United States. 
General Grant's cottage is not an imposing one, but it is prob- 
ably the best known at Long Branch. Beyond is an oddly- 
built structure of large proportions, with pinnacle-crowned 
towers surmounting the red roof and brick chimneys running 
up outside the main tower walls. In this castellated mansion, 
costing seventy thousand dollars to build, Commodore Garrison 
enjoys the ocean breezes, while across the avenue, behind 



•76 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

him, lives in simpler style the famous " Tom" Murphy, of 
New York. Moses Taylor counts his coupons in the broad 
and attractive cottage farther west, and has his son-in-law's 
house adjoining, their grounds being in common. Generals 
Porter and Babcock, who were President Grant's secretaries, 
have their cottages on the other side of the avenue, with a 
common roadway entrance for both. We soon come to Elbe- 
ron, where the elaborate and attractive hotel by the seaside 
has a colony of twenty-seven large cottages annexed to it, 
inland, whose occupants are supplied and cared for from the 
hotel. They conduct their house- keeping in their own wtiy 
at home, but get their meals from the hotel. The Elberon 
Hotel, which is owned and (by a lingual twist) named after 
L. B. Brown, looks like a large private villa, and was origi- 
nally built by Mr. Franklyn, of the Cunard Steamship Com- 
pany, who now lives in a more modest yet costly house to the 
westward of it. [Here President Garfield died September 
19, 1881.] These cottages are nearly all Swiss villas, smoke- 
colored, with dark red roofs. The dividends of Western 
railways have enabled Mr. Victor Newcomb, formerly of the 
Louisville and Nashville Company, to put up an odd-looking 
Normandy house beyond the Elberon, while the elaborate 
structure now building on the sea front by Horace White, of 
New York, and yet incomplete, closes the array at the West 
End of Long Branch, where the bluff ends and the avenue 
goes ofi" towards Deal Beach. The list of cottagers at this 
celebrated watering-place is legion, and it includes quite a 
colony of famous actors, besides some of the most prominent 
men of New York and Philadelphia. 

HOLLYWOOD. 

The crowning glory of Long Branch, however, is the es- 
tate of John Hoey, where about one hundred acres are laid 
out as a garden and park. Far away over the buildings and 
grounds, from almost every part of Long Branch, can be 
seen the tall flagstaff on the Mansion House, with the flag 
flying from it when the owner is at home. The estate of 
Hollywood lies back of the New Jersey Central Railroad, 
and at the West End. A yellow open-work palisade fence 
with white tops surrounds the grounds, the saffron colors 
looking not out of place when backed by the green grass and 



LONG BRANCH. Y7 

trees witlun. Mr. Hoey, whose own taste has laid out this 
magnificent park, and whose personal superintendence keeps 
it up in summer splendor, dearly loves the yellow tinge, and 
has given it to almost all the hot-houses and buildings on the 
estate. We go along the bordering road, which has a row 
of trees planted down the centre, and enter at the lodge, 
which is itself one of the finest villas at Long Branch. The 
grounds we find to be a succession of lawns, groves, and 
flower-beds, the latter in plats of all shapes and styles. The 
outside of the lodge piazzas is covered with lattice-work, and 
far within the park rises the stately mansion, with piazzas up 
to the roof, and the lower stories enclosed in glass. Statuary 
greets the eye in all directions. The roads wind around 
among the flower-beds and through the groves and lawns 
and shrubbery, everything being kept neatly and most at- 
tractive. There are acres of hot-houses so disposed that all 
that is within them can be seen through the outer windows. 
Some of the flower-beds are laid out in colors to represent 
the beautiful figures of a velvet carpet ; some are mottoes ; 
others are of foliage-plants set in various designs. The 
flowers to produce these beds are raised by tens of thousands 
in the hot-houses ; and there are also separate houses for 
ferns, and palms, and cacti and similar tropical plants. Be- 
hind the mansion is a pleasant grove of small trees, and the 
grounds are so disposed as to make a pleasing view from the 
windows in every direction, while singing birds in profusion 
flit about among the foliage. The general flatness of the 
surface is the only drawback, but Mr. Hoey has made the 
most of the advantages that nature has given him in this 
charming spot. His stable, which has a bronze horse sur- 
mounting the door, is completely masked from the house by 
trees. Here some pug-dogs were playing, and in an enclosure 
near by he last year had about sixty of these interesting 
animals. To maintain this great floral establishment requires 
a large force of gardeners, and the hot-houses also consume 
coal by the train-load. Their owner looks after everything 
himself, this being his amusement when away from business 
in New York. To maintain such an establishment, to 
gladden the eyes of Long Branch visitors, requires a princely 
income, and Mr. Hoey, fortunately, has it at command. 
"For what was Eve created?" is a riddle often asked, and 

7* 



78 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

answered, " For Adam's Express Company." " For what 
was Adams' Express Company created ?" might likewise be 
answered, " To maintain the Garden of Eden for its chief 
owner at Hollywood." 



XI. 

LONG BRANCH'S NEIGHBORS. 
MONMOUTH BEACH AND SEABRIGHT. 

Long Branch has within a brief period been surrounded 
by neighbors on the Northern New Jersey coast, more popu- 
lous than herself. It will not be long before the entire shore 
from Sandy Hook down to Barnegat will become an almost 
unbroken summer town. It is even now the most populous 
coast on the Atlantic, its villages and towns growing with 
great strides every year. North of Long Branch the Shrews- 
bury River flows into Sandy Hook Bay, past the Navesink 
Highlands. A narrow strip of sand divides the river from 
the ocean, and along this the New Jersey Southern Railroad 
runs almost to the termination of the beach at Sandy Hook. 
Out on the ocean front there is a succession of villas, while 
fishing settlements of an earlier date line the shores and bays 
of the Shrewsbury River. To accommodate the elongated town 
that spreads out upon the shore, the railroad has stations at 
every few hundred yards, and as the strip of sand narrows 
in its northward course, there is scarcely room for the railroad 
and wagon-road behind the row of cottages on the shore. 
We advance northward along this beach, past the Land's 
End, where in primitive times the Indians are said to have 
come to catch fish, and through Atlanticville. On the sea- 
ward side of the road there is a constant succession of villas, 
many with vines running over their porches, and having 
flower-gardens on the surrounding lawns. The next settle- 
ment is Monmouth Beach, which is entirely the growth of 
the last few years. Its seaside cottages have handsome 
stables along the roadside, the horses, in many cases, having 



LONG BRANCH'S NEIGHBORS. 79 

as fine houses to live in as their owners. The antique style 
of Queen Anne's day prevails in building here, and most of 
the roofs are painted red ; but everything has the odor of 
" newness," not noticed in Long Branch. At the northern 
end of Monmouth Beach can be seen, fi\r across the Shrews- 
bury River, the green sides of the Navesink Highlands. 
Passing the little nook on the river-shore which is known as 
Pleasure Bay, the pyramid-topped ice-houses of the fishing 
town of Galilee raise their heads in strong contrast with the 
villas on the beach. Hundreds of nets and fish-boxes are 
spread around, and here the blufi" along the shore ends, the 
beach above being nothing but a strip of sand, on which 
immense labor has been expended in making solid roads and 
top- dressing with fertile soil. The fancy-looking little build- 
ing alongside a nest of ice-houses is Life-Saving Station No. 
4. These stations are placed at intervals of about three 
miles along the shore, beginning at Sandy Hook, and are 
the headquarters of the wrecking-crews in the winter and 
spring, but are now closed. Away off across Shrewsbury 
River stands up the tall windmill on the hill-side at Rumsen. 
Here the palate of the epicure is whetted by signs announ- 
cing " Lobsters" and " Hard- and Soft-shell Crabs," for the 
river-shore is a succession of fishing stations ; while the 
ocean steadily washes against the bulkhead that separates it 
from the lawns and gardens of the stately cottages on that 
side, their grounds having no dividing fences, but being gen- 
erally cultivated in common. In front of each house is its 
flower-bed, and in some cases they take attractive forms. A 
row-boat or a little skiff, with its raised mast and cordage, 
are availed of to produce pretty floral designs. Not a tree 
grows here, but the profusion of grass relieves the glare of 
the sun. This is all a New York and New Jersey settle- 
ment, Philadelphia being unrepresented. It is one of the 
closest watering-places to New York, both by railway and 
water, and combines the advantages of surf-bathing and the 
fishing and sailing on the river. Some of the cottages are 
very oddly constructed, but all are costly and elaborate, and 
many, like their original Swiss models, have the stairways 
outside. 

At Seabright, still farther north, the profusion of ice- 
houses afiain denotes the devotion of the inhabitants to fish- 



80 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

ing. The strip of beach between river and ocean gets very 
narrow. The road and raih'oad go side by side through the 
viHage, with rows of htcle houses on either hand, and the 
water visible between them. There are plenty of new houses 
building, and also one or two large hotels. A fine bridge 
crosses over to the part of the village on the other side of 
the river, formerly known, from its dark green foliage, as 
Black Point. There are more fine cottages north of Sea- 
bright, and set among them is the building the State of Con- 
necticut had at the Centennial Exhibition, now a private villa. 
The Navesink Highlands come closer and more plainly in 
view as we move northward, and the narrow sand-strip runs up 
to Sandy Hook, twelve miles from Long Branch. Steadily 
the cottages are being built along it, and in a brief period 
will probably go to the Hook itself. There are thousands 
of fine buildings along this remarkable beach, some costing 
fortunes to build. The houses are all of wood, but with suf- 
ficient intervening space to prevent danger from fire. At 
Seabright the Octagon Hotel, in modern fashion, has its 
colony of outlying cottages, whose occupants come to the 
hotel table. Eleven years ago the tract of land on which 
the Monmouth Beach colony stands was sold for forty-eight 
thousand dollars ; it is now valued at one million five hun- 
dred thousand dollars, the prevailing price for lots being fifty 
dollars per front foot. 

PLEASURE BAY AND THE NAVESINK. 

Back of Monmouth Beach is the fascinating nook formed 
by Branchport Creek, one of the branches of Shrewsbury 
River, where the trees go down to the water's edge, and 
known as Pleasure Bay. Here stands a stately yellow house 
in a park, with the Shrewsbury Biver and the Navesink High- 
lands for a background, wherein lives throughout the year the 
well-known New York editor, Hugh J. Hastings, of the C0121- 
mercial Advertiser. A flag thrown to the breeze tells when 
he is at home, and his less fortunate journalistic brethren in 
New York, possibly not without a tinge of envy, have de- 
nominated him the " Earl of Pleasure Bay." Wesley Avenue 
fronts the park, and a pleasant road through a border of trees 
leads up to the house. On the adjoining shores of the bay 
there is quite a settlement, and here, if anywhere, can be 



LONG BRANCH'S NEIGHBORS. 81 

found luxurious repose. In a little house down by the bank 
among the trees, where the Shrewsbury oyster can be got 
direct from its native home, and an obliging landlord is all 
attention, I was shown an upper room where Philadelphia 
local statesmen used to come to fix up Long Branch " slates" 
for the Quaker City voters. But those days are no more at 
Pleasure Bay. 

The crowning glory of all this region is the Navesink 
Highlands, wdiich stand at the entrance of New York harbor, 
and are the first land to reward the eager gaze of the mariner. 
The Shrewsbury River flows at their foot, and beyond, on the 
narrow strip of sand forming Sandy Hook, the ocecin cease- 
lessly beats. It was in Sandy Hook Bay, and along the base 
of these highlands, that Fenimore Cooper's " Water-Witch" 
chiefly cruised, and it is on Beacon Hill, which greets the 
mariner from afar, that the great twin light-houses of the 
Navesink are placed. These towers, about four miles south 
of Sandy Hook, are the highest lights on the Atlantic coast, 
being nearly two hundred and fifty feet above the sea, and 
their rays reach for thirty-five miles, or as far as the horizon 
permits. The hills are becoming rapidly monopolized for 
villa sites, and there is seldom given a better location for mag- 
nificent scenery over sea, bay, and river. It will not be long 
before the whole of this fascinating region is as thickly settled 
as the beaches below it. 

ASBURY PARK. 

On the coast, going to the southward of Long Branch, the 
visitor crosses a broad expanse of meadow, with an occasional 
stream and swamp, where flags and lilies grow. The Ocean 
Avenue stops at Deal Beach, and we proceed farther inland 
to the Deal turnpike, which passes through a region of old 
farm-houses and rich farms, the road being bordered by hedges. 
Deal Beach has few houses, however, and these are not of 
recent construction. The country is flat, and not far inland 
are thick woods. Hathaway's and some other hotels passed 
on the roadside look comfortable with their cool piazzas under 
groves of trees. The Long Branch bluff', which ends at Deal, 
is succeeded on the shore by a series of sand-hills, and these, 
in making the improvements to the southward, have been 
mostly carted away. Avenues are cut through from the turn- 
/ 



82 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

pike to tlie shore, and the turnpike crosses Great Pond, which 
divides Deal from the thriving settlement at Asbury Park. 
Here and there are a succession of long, narrow fresh-water 
lakes, extending from northeast to southwest, and their banks 
are availed of for pleasant residences. On the north side of 
the Great Pond Inlet is Life-Saving Station No. 6, a plain 
dark red building. The sand-hills are covered with scrub 
timber along the turnpike, and, turning down towards the 
shore, we get into the settlement. Here are thousands of 
modest cottages, and a large number of new ones building. 
A broad sand beach extends along the shore, back from which 
run the 'avenues, and other streets cross these at right angles. 
The town, originally only along the north shore of Wesley 
Lake, has spread northward until now it has reached beyond 
Sunset Lake, on which its Fifth Avenue fronts, and in the 
height of the season it has at least fifteen thousand inhab- 
itants. Most of the buildings are boarding-houses, and we 
pass along Webb Street to go around the eastern verge of 
Sunset Lake. It was here, in the early days of Long Branch, 
that the visitors came, then into the primitive forest, to look 
at the sunset across the lake and its little island ; hence its 
name. To this little Belle Isle foot-bridges lead from the 
shore, and cottages border both sides of the lake. Between 
the two lakes Asbury Park is thickly settled, and in going 
along Kingsley Street we pass several large and attractive 
hotels, while a great number of the other buildings are board- 
ing-houses and swarm with visitors. It is a town much like 
Atlantic City in ap23earance, but has more soil and trees and 
loss bare sand. The wide avenues lead at regular intervals 
down to the ocean front and give excellent views of the surf. 
The pretty Wesley Lake, full of little boats, is the southern 
border of Asbury Park, and here, near the bank, is the sec- 
tion of a California big tree, converted into a house with a 
door in the side. 

OCEAN GROVE. 

Across the Wesley Lake, on its sloping grassy terraced 
bank, is the row of pleasant little cottages that give the 
visitor the prettiest outside view of the settlement at Ocean 
Grove. As at " Twickenham Ferry," we are rowed over the 
lake for a penny, and enter the town. This is the most 



LONG BRANCU'S NEIGHBORS. 83 

populous of all lliGse watering-places, and twenty thousand 
people will be here at one time in the height of the season. 
It is barely ten years old, and was established by members 
of the Methodist Church as a camp-meeting ground and 
summer resort for Christian families. The Association have 
authority to make their own laws ; no intoxicating liquors 
are permitted by the regulations to be brought upon the 
ground ; all misbehavior unbecoming such a place is sup- 
pressed, and bathing, boating, and driving are strictly pro- 
hibited on Sunday, when all the entrance -gates to the en- 
closure, excepting those by footpaths, are closed and locked. 
The Grove has become immensely popular with an influen- 
tial class of the community, and it numbers a large proportion 
of Philadelpbians among its population. The little lots, 
thirty by sixty feet, which, in favorite localities, originally 
sold for about fifty dollars, now command as high as one 
thousand to twelve hundred dollars. The plan of Ocean 
Grove shows its religious origin. The projectors first se- 
cured a comparatively small tract on the south side of Wes- 
ley Lake for their camp-meeting ground, and here, at about 
three hundred yards from the beach, they located their 
" Auditorium," a spacious roof, surmounted by cupolas, cov- 
ering a platform and sufiicient bench-room to accommodate 
five thousand people. As Wesley Lake runs diagonally from 
the coast, this camp-ground has short streets leading both 
north and west from it to the shore of the lake ; while to the 
eastward, down to the sea, is opened a broad avenue, called 
the " Ocean Pathway," with garden spaces on each side, and 
rows of cottages on the bordering streets. This furnishes a 
wide, open space direct from the sea to the Auditorium, up 
which the sea-breeze can come without obstruction, and over 
which the bordering cottages have a fine front view, though 
the garden-plats are not kept in as good order as might be 
supposed would be done on the principal street of the town. 
All around the Auditorium is a broad space where platforms 
are erected for tents, and on the south side is the " Taber- 
nacle," an attractive little church. Parallel to the ocean, in 
front of the tenting-ground, and at right angles to the " Ocean 
Pathway," is the " Pilgrim's Pathway," while Mount Zion 
Way, Mount Carmel Way, and Mount Tabor Way run north- 
ward from the tenting-ground to the lake-shore. Mount 



84 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Hermon Way is south of these, and the other streets which 
cross each other at right angles, bear well-known Methodist 
names, such as Cookman Avenue, Pitman Avenue, Lawrence 
Avenue, etc. Two grand entrances are opened at the western 
side of the Grove, on the turnpike front, one leading to the 
Main Avenue and the other to Broadway. Fletcher Lake is 
about the present southern border of the Grove, but at its 
rate of growth it is getting far beyond the original bounds 
in all directions. 

Ocean Grove is properly so called, for it is filled with little 
trees that give a delightful shade, and there is no place in 
Philadelphia more crowded than it is during the camp-meet- 
ing season. Here, in addition to the usual services, they 
have " surf-meetings" on Sunday, when religious services 
will be conducted by congregations of many thousands in the 
open air at the very edge of the ocean. Throughout July 
and August there will be almost daily religious gatherings. 
Ocean Grove observes strict rules and peculiar ones, and is 
fenced in on all but the ocean side, being probably the only 
walled city in the country. It has almost as many buildings 
within those fences as it can comfortably hold, and contains 
plenty of big boarding-houses with little rooms. After cross- 
ing the ferry over the clear, amber-colored cedar-water of 
Wesley Lake, the visitor is confronted by a mounted cannon 
set up on the grassy terrace at the foot of New Jersey Ave- 
nue. This gun is one of the relics of the battle of Gettys- 
burg, having been captured there and mounted on an ancient 
gun-carriage which was taken from the British during the 
Revolution. Going in under the trees the place is found 
most attractive, the rows of little cottages and tents being 
embosomed in foliage, and the air from the ocean sweeps up 
the avenues and cools the entire town, while down in the 
little summer-houses on the beach the surf can be seen as it 
breaks upon the shore. Here, as at all the seacoast resorts 
from Sandy Hook down to Sea Girt, they say there are no 
mosquitoes, but occasionally a thick fog rolls in and satu- 
rates everything, while the listener can hear the fog-whistles 
blown at regular intervals by the steamers passing cautiously 
along the coast. They are not so fortunate, however, at 
some of the inland settlements along the Shrewsbury River ; 
for the marshes in that neighborhood produce as ravenous 



NEW YORK HARBOR. 85 

a breed of mosquitoes as can be found anywhere in the 
Jerseys. 

This twenty miles of coast probably has one hundred and 
fifty thousand population when the season is at its height. 
There are at least fifteen thousand houses spread along the 
shore from Sandy Hook to Sea Grirt, and the highly- orna- 
mented and more elaborate villas at Long Branch and Mon- 
mouth Beach are numbered by the thousands. These beaches 
and bluffs are to-day the most rapidly-growing watering- 
places of the Atlantic seacoast, and as new buildings are going 
up in all directions, their summer population seems destined 
to expand indefinitely. They have all the adjuncts of a city 
but a public graveyard, — and possibly are too young just yet 
for that. To bury their dead the people go to Branchburg, 
about three miles inland. Here, in a common grave, are 
buried over two hundred persons, drowned, in 185-1, when 
an emigrant ship came ashore at Grreat Pond ; and, in fiict, 
the shipwrecked make up a large part of the occupants of 
the Branchport graves. 



XII. 

NEW YOKK HAEBOR. 

A JOURNEr TO CONEY ISLAND. 

Let us start on a tour to-day to Coney Island, the great 
watering-place of the two millions of people who live around 
New York harbor. There are plenty of ways of getting 
there, both by water and railway, from New York and Brook- 
lyn ; and this season Coney Island has been placed within 
reach of a daily excursion from Philadelphia. The " Iron 
Steamboat Company" has made an arrangement with the 
Pennsylvania Railroad by which its steamboats will connect 
at the Jersey City terminus with certain trains, thus forming 
a through route from Philadelphia by way of Jersey City. 
This " Iron Steamboat Company" is an evidence of the enor- 
mous capital required to conduct the transportation of the 

8 



86 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

mijlions who visit w*hat may certainly be called the best pa- 
tronized watering-place in the world. The company has a 
capital of two millions, invested only in steamboats and piers. 
They have seven new and staunch iron steamboats, all built 
on the Delaware, — three at Roach's yard and four at Cramp's 
yard; — and each constructed particularly for this trade, with 
a capacity for eighteen hundred to two thousand passengers. 
A better excursion fleet never was provided, and there is 
certainly a fitness in sailing to a great seaside resort over the 
salt-water. The iron steamboats start from Twenty-third 
Street, on the Hudson River, and touch at Pier 1, just along- 
side Castle Garden, down at the Battery, and on certain trips 
they touch at the Pennsylvania Railroad wharf in Jersey 
City. On top of Pier 1, which is one of the new and sub- 
stantial stone docks that New York is building on the Hudson 
River front, there has been erected a pavilion extending the 
entire length of the pier, open on all sides, so that a fine view 
of the river, bay, and adjoining Battery Park is available. 
Here a band of music gives concerts every afternoon and 
evening, and here come the thousands to listen to the music 
and go to Coney Island. As you sit there, favored by the 
cool breezes and listening to Professor Coppa's orchestra, the 
myriads of steam- and sail-vessels pass and repass, and there 
is a view far down the harbor and through the Narrows to 
the ocean. This great concert-hall is five hundred by eighty 
feet, and can accommodate six thousand persons, the seats 
sometimes being crowded on the warm evenings by people 
from the lower part of New York City who do not want to 
go to Coney Island, but are admitted to the concerts for a 
small fee. The Coney Island season continues about four 
months, and during that time a large part of the travel will 
pass over this pier, the steamboat journey put to the Island 
occupying about forty-five minutes. With a fresh breeze 
blowing in from the Narrows and our overcoats on we start, 
late in the afternoon, at what is called the " slack time," but 
still with hundreds of others. The Coney Island travel is 
said by its transporters to be a peculiar one. The current 
from breakfast-time till dusk is all towards the Island, and 
then from eight to ten o'clock the crowds who took the entire 
day in going down all want to get home again in about two 
hours of the evening. Within these two hours the various 



NEW FORK HARBOR. 87 

routes have been known to carry away two hundred thousand 
people from Coney Island. How it is done visitors who were 
at the Centennial Exhibition on "Philadelphia Day" may 
imagine. 

SAILING DOWN NEW YORK HARBOR. 

We start from Pier 1, on the iron steamboat " Cygnus," 
and head direct for the little opening between the hills lead- 
ins: apparently into vacancy, known as the Narrows. Behind 
us, looking over the wake of the steamer and its line of froth, 
is the Battery and its Park, while over the trees we can see 
up Broadway, for we are running in almost a direct line away 
from that great street. The route takes us down between 
Governor's and Bedloe's Islands, both Government works. 
On Bedloe's Island is Fort Wood, and here also the French 
want to erect the great statue of America as a light-house, 
if New York is generous enough to build a pedestal tower, 
which, as yet, she seems not to be, judging from the paucity 
of subscriptions. 

On Governor's Island the flag waves over Fort Columbus, 
and we pass closely the old-time circular stone fort, looking 
rather the worse for wear, and known as Castle William. 
Beyond Governor's Island we cross below the mouth of East 
Biver, and get a magnificent view of the East Biver Bridge, 
with its tall towers and great cables, and the flooring-beams 
gradually approaching each other over the centre of the river, 
as the construction carefully proceeds from the two sides. 
Then Brooklyn suddenly closes in the East Biver view, and 
its long lines of docks and warehouses slope off" to our left, 
upon the broad point of land north of Gowanus Bay. 

To the right hand and in front, there are distant views of 
the high hills on Staten Island, with a fleet of steamers and 
ships at anchor between us and them. Then we cross in front 
of the entrance to Gowanus Bay, and up on the hills behind it 
are the graves and tombs of Greenwood Cemetery, seen far 
away over the intervening lower ground. In front of our 
course the hills gradually close together at the Narrows, and 
here we pass the steamboat " Bichard Stockton," laden with 
a Philadelphia excursion-party, who have just got through a 
day's task at eating clam-chowder and popping champagne 
corks down at Brighton Beach. The steamers salute each 



88 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

other, and their wakes of salt-water foam commingle after they 
separate. We pass, though with but a distant view, the attrac- 
tive villages of Stapleton and Clifton, built upon the hill-sides 
of Staten Island, — a fleet of foreign vessels riding at anchor 
in front on the broad harbor. On the northern side, we 
have crossed Growanus Bay and are now moving in front of 
Bay Bidge, where steamers land crowds who make the rest 
of the Coney Island journey by railway. The extensive 
wharf arrangement attests the amount of travel. Below Bay 
Ridge the slopes upon the Long Island shore are lirted with 
villas, some of great attractions, and the ranges of hills almost 
coming together we enter the Narrows. 

This formation is that of a broken-down mountain range, 
through which the mighty Hudson Biver has forced a nar- 
row passage, scarcely a mile wide, to the sea, part of the 
passageway, however, being still obstructed by an island. 
This island and the hills on either hand have been occupied 
by the G-overnment for fortifications. Formerly they were 
the old-time stone-works of Fort Lafayette, on the little 
island, and Fort Wadsworth, on the Staten Island bank, but 
these obsolete fortifications have been since superseded by 
the more modern, but still incomplete, constructions on the 
hill-tops on either hand, known as Forts Hamilton and 
Tompkins. On each hill-top the standard waves until the 
sunset gun gives the signal that night is coming. There can 
be seen the long lines of earth-works, with the little black 
guns poking their muzzles out between the grass-covered 
mounds wherein are placed during warfare the magazines of 
ammunition, so as to have them handy for the guns. Below 
Fort Tompkins, on the Staten Island side, and just at the 
water's edge, is the old-time bastioned gray-stone fort of the 
earlier day, while on the eastern side in front of Fort Ham- 
ilton, on Long Island, is the ancient red sandstone Fort 
Lafayette on the reef that forms the island in the Narrows, 
its chimney-stacks pointing upward beyond the tops of the 
walls. Fort Lafayette has, in its day, held many a famous 
political prisoner, but it is harmless now, and will live here- 
after mainly as a relic. These defensive works of New York 
harbor look formidable, but our military men say we are not 
keeping pace with the improvements in fortifications made 
by other countries, and that modern-armored ships could 



NEW YORK HARBOR. 89 

easily run by them. A liberal sowing of torpedoes in the 
Narrows, however, will make up any of the short-comings of 
the forts, if risk of foreign invasion gets serious. As it is, 
the forts are now letting the Germans and Irish and Swedes 
come through the Narrows at the rate of nearly a half- million 
a year, and they go up to Castle Garden to seek a new, and, 
it is to be hoped, a happier home than they have deserted. 

Having passed the Narrows, we leave the upper and enter 
the lower bay forming New York harbor. These furnish 
anchorage sufficient for many thousands of ships. The upper 
bay is an irregular oval -shaped body of water, about eight 
miles long and five miles broad. With the North and East 
Rivers, it contains about twenty-seven square miles of an- 
chorage-ground. The lower bay is a triangle of nine to 
twelve miles on each side, the Staten Island shore running 
off to Earitan Bay, and the Jersey shore from Raritan Bay 
to Sandy Hook Bay, being the longer sides, while a line 
drawn across the water from the Narrows past the west end 
of Coney Island to Sandy Hook is, probably, ratlier the shorter 
side. Here are eighty-eight square miles available for an- 
chorage, making one hundred and fifteen square miles for the 
whole harbor. After passing the Narrows our steamboat 
heads for Sandy Hook, while "the Staten Island shore rapidly 
recedes towards the westward, the quarantine ground being 
over on that side. Sandy Hook is about eighteen miles 
almost due south from the Battery, and two ship-channels 
lead up to the city, having twenty-one to thirty-two feet 
depth at low water. The Sandy Hook bar, however, is an 
obstruction, requiring the deeply-laden vessels of modern 
commerce to await high tide to cross it safely. 

CONEY ISLAND AND THE IRON PIER. 

Our steamboat heads for Sandy Hook when it leaves the 
Narrows, so as to get past the jutting west end of Coney 
Island, which spreads out for some distance beyond Long 
Island, the intervening bay being known as Gravesend Bay. 
Coney Island is a long narrow sand beach, tacked on to the 
extremity of Long Island, south of Brooklyn, with a broad 
intervening space of lowlands and marshes, over which a half- 
dozen steam- and horse-car lines run from Brooklyn. The 
moment we have got out of the Narrows, the buildings on the 

8* 



90 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

western end of Coney Island are seen spread out, along the 
low strip of land across Gravesend Bay. It is not far away, 
and in the centre of the scene stands up the tall Observatory, 
removed there from George's Hill. All the adjacent shores 
are low, and the first sight we get of the place is from the 
rear, for we are coming down the bay behind a town which 
has everything constructed to face the ocean beyond it. The 
steamboat rounds the low sand-banks that form the western 
point of the Island, with a number of frame hotels and res- 
taurants built along the shore, known as Norton's Point, and 
goes out upon the Atlantic. The sand-hills on the shore are 
fronted by enormous signs announcing that bathing can be 
had there, but the ancient West End pier, where all the roughs 
of New York used to land in the primitive days of Coney 
Island, has been almost washed away, aod few go there now. 
Far to the southward is Sandy Hook and its light-house, with 
the Navesink Hills like a blue haze beyond. As the fresh 
breeze brings in the broad swells we cling to our wraps, but 
the chilliness does not have as much eifect as the long roll of 
the boat, which reminds our stomachs of the existence of old 
Neptune, and that if this sort of thing continues we may 
have to cast up accounts with him. The boat skirts along 
the Coney Island shore, and, rocking merrily on the waves, 
heads for the great Iron Pier, now standing up on the sea, 
like a broad palace of Aladdin, before us. It is built on tiers 
of iron piles, and the waves have a free wash under it. This 
vast construction, which exceeds in proportions and magnifi- 
cence the great piers at Brighton, in England, extends out 
into the ocean a thousand feet, from the part of Coney Island 
known as West Brighton beach. It is a two-storied structure, 
surmounted by huge pavilions at the centre and both ends. 
On the lower floor are the bathing arrangements, the signs 
announcing that there are twelve hundred bath-rooms. On 
the upper floor, which is open on the sides, is a promenade, 
with a full view of everything on sea and land. This pier is 
the " Iron Steamboat Company's" landing, and it is in itself 
a complete seashore bathing establishment. As we near the 
outer end, and the diagonal boat-landings so constructed that 
the steamers can lie there safely, notwithstanding the roll of 
the sea, the fine orchestra on the outer extremity of the 
promenade greet us with music, and hundreds look over the 



NEW FORK HARBOR. 91 

railings to see who is coming. Here landed a million and a 
half people last year, and here, with the improved facilities, 
the Iron Steamboat managers expect to have three millions 
of visitors this season. \Ve land on the lowest deck of the 
pier, and go up-stairs through the entrancj-gates and past the 
ticket-takers to the upper deck, all the passage- and entrance- 
ways being constructed to accommodate great crowds. On 
top of the pier the wind sweeps through as evening approaches, 
showing that it must be a cool place in hot weather. The 
broad sea is in front of us, while Coney Island is spread out 
on either hand. The music plays, and a stream of people 
move out to take the boats, for the returning tide of travel to 
New York has begun. Along the shore for miles to the east- 
ward are seen the great hotels and bathing establishments, 
while not for away they are building a new iron pier, which will 
furnish additional fiicilities for boat landings. As night comes 
the bright suns of the electric light blaze out to illuminate 
the pier, and myriads of lights are seen along the shore, while 
to the eastward fireworks go up at the great hotels of Brighton 
and Manhattan Beaches. The benches fill up with travellers 
waiting for the boats, and the cool air having given an appe- 
tite we sit down to supper on the pier while the waves wash 
under us, and the wind vies with the music in giving enter- 
tainment. But here, as everywhere, are made discoveries. 
The Philadelphian comes from a region that loves the oyster, 
but Coney Island instead pays tribute to the clam. They 
have no oysters, but instead can give us all sorts of clams 
prepared in all sorts of ways. The " Little Neck" products 
feed us ; we investigate the mysteries of " Coney Island 
Chowder ;" and, having supped amid unlimited magnificence 
(including the bill), go off the pier to the Island. We are 
upon Coney Island on Saturday night, among probably fifty 
thousand visitors, — its illumination and fireworks trying to 
turn night into day, — while music fills the air and everything 
wears the aspect of a holiday. 



92 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

XIII. 

CONEY ISLAND. 

THE AMERICAN BRIGHTON. 

Coney Island is the greatest watering-place in the world. 
Its season lasts four months, and during one hundred days it 
is an almost uninterrupted French fete. Most people work 
six days in the week and rest on the Sabbath ; but at Coney 
Island, as in the morning newspaper office, they work on 
Sunday, and in fact concentrate into the Sabbath as much 
labor and amusement as are usually spread over the other six 
days in the week. No French Sunday fete ever exceeded the 
jollity on Coney Island, as we saw it on a hot summer Sun- 
day, when over a hundred thousand people went down there 
to have a good time. Think of a half-dozen Atlantic Cities 
and Cape Mays concentrated along a four-mile strip of shore, 
with all the available bands of music in full blast ; all the 
bars going ; all the vehicles moving ; all the minstrel shows, 
miniature theatres. Punch and Judy, fat woman, and big 
snake exhibitions that cluster around a mammoth circus, 
open ; all the flying-horses, swings, and velocipede machines 
in operation ; and a dense but good-humored crowd ever}'-- 
where, sight-seeing, drinking beer, and swallowing clam chow- 
der ; and you have a faint idea of a Coney Island midsummer 
Sunday. France is the only country that can approach it in 
similar scenes, and there is nothing like it elsewhere on the 
Western Continent. But while the French may drink beer, 
they don't eat clam chowder to any appreciable extent. The 
enormous crowds at Coney Island are a perpetual reminder 
of the Centennial, for they move about in all directions seek- 
ing amusement, and cluster around every attraction ; come 
into the place all day, and rush home again at night ; while 
the Island itself is an aggregation of frame buildings of much 
the same style of architecture as those that were in Fairmount 
Park during the Exhibition. 

There are said to be over twenty millions of dollars capital 



CONEY ISLAND. 93 

represented in the Coney Island buildings, piers, and improve- 
ments, and the means of transportation to the place. Last 
summer nearly five millions of people went there and spent 
nine millions of dollars. This year the opinion is that the 
increased transportation fiicilities will bring six millions and 
they will spend ten or twelve millions of money. What a 
fortune this is to be expended in one watering-place season ! 
and with the preparations for such a harvest, one can readily 
believe that some of the big hotels on Coney Island lose money 
unless they take in five thousand dollars a day. There are 
over three thousand waiters employed in the hotels and res- 
taurants. This strip of sand, extending about four miles 
along the Atlantic, may be divided into four sections and is 
in reality a succession of narrow villages, composed chiefly 
of hotels and restaurants, built along the shore and the sin- 
gle road behind it. The western end, or Norton's Point, was 
the original Coney Island, as known to the old-time New 
Yorker, and was a resort for the rowdy and often of the 
ruffian. The Coney Island visitor now does not go to the 
" West End" any more than the casual visitor to London 
goes' to the " East End" of the metropolis. The great Iron 
Pier lands you at the centre of the Island, known, perhaps, 
better as West Brighton Beach, where the Philadelphia Cen- 
tennial has made two of the chief contributions to Coney 
Island architecture, in the Observatory, and the rebuilding 
of a large portion of Machinery Hall, which has been trans- 
formed into the spacious and attractive " Sea Beach Palace," 
used for a hotel and railway station. It must be borne in 
mind that every hotel of any pretensions at this extraordi- 
nary place has its own railway to New York harbor and 
Brooklyn, and that the competition to get possession of the 
visitors really begins at the Brooklyn ferry-houses. A broad 
avenue known as the Concourse leads over the nearly vacant 
region of about a mile between West Brighton and Brighton 
Beach, and here the third section of the Island is located and 
the roadway stops. About a third of a mile west of Brigh- 
ton Beach is Manhattan Beach, with the "Marine Railway," 
a narrow-gauge steam road, connecting them, and this, the 
easternmost section, contains the Manhattan Hotel, and some 
distance farther eastward, the Oriental Hotel. Generally, in 
America we grow in fasliionable exclusivencss as we approach 



94 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the " West End" of a city, but Coney Island reverses the 
rule. Its Oriental (or eastern) Hotel is an immense caravan- 
sary of five hundred and fifty rooms, where they ask from 
five dollars to twenty dollars per day board, with appropriate 
extras. We were not able to stay at the Oriental more than 
about fifteen minutes. 

BRIGHTON BEACH. 

At the Brighton Hotel (where they say they have rooms 
on the European plan for " two dollars per day upwards"), 
the great music-stand, where the band sits under a sounding- 
board like a seashell, the vast crowds listening to Levy's 
cornet, blown for five hundred dollars a week, and the gen- 
eral magnificence attracted our patronage. Before the bill 
was paid we found that " upwards," when referring to a hotel 
room, meant up towards the roof, and when the bill loo^s paid, 
the cashier forgot all about the two-dollar rate in his anxiety 
to collect enough to pay Mr. Levy's week's salary. But the 
back room given us, up under the roof, presented a fine rear 
view of the gravelled tops of the hotel kitchens and out 
along the half-dozen railways leading across the marshes 
towards the distant hills bordering Brooklyn, over which the 
comet hovered in great brilliancy on Sunday night ; and also 
of the Coney Island race-course, just behind the hotel, where 
the jockeys raced their horses round the track all Sunday 
morning. The " European plan" we further discovered to 
be a plan for raising the price of board by instalments. You 
paid " only for what you got" to eat, but almost the only 
thing to be got on the elaborate bill of fare for less than a 
dollar was clam chowder, and that chowder some fellow spent 
the entire night chopping under our room window. My 
brother rambler on this occasion learned more about the 
Louvre domes of mansard-roofs than he had ever known be- 
fore. His room was the last one at the back end of the top 
story, underneath where several of those beautifully-sloping 
sides of the Louvre come together. Consequently the head- 
board of the bedstead had to be stuck out of a window, or 
the bed would not go into the room under the inclining walls, 
and the gentleman who had to get into this apartment, for 
which they wanted to levy four dollars a day (but didn't), 
after considerable examination, found he could best do it on 



CONEY ISLAND. 95 

all-fours, But what was the difference? We were in our 
rooms as little as possible, and could go down-stairs and hear 
Levy's five-hundred-dollar cornet with as much satisfiiction 
as the best of them. 

The Brighton Beach may be regarded as the centre of 
fiishionable Coney Island now, and its Sunday afternoon scene 
will not soon be forgotten. The hotel is enormous, immense 
towers, with pyramid tops surmounting it, and broad piazzas 
all along the front. Many acres are laid out with board 
walks and flower-gardens in front down to the beach, where 
there are pavilions, and where bulkheads protect the gardens 
from sea encroachments. In front of the hotel is the great 
music-stand, facing the piazzas, with semicircular benches 
arranged to accommodate thousands of people. Large awn- 
ings keep the sun off the piazzas and musicians, as he moves 
around to the westward. Here, on Sunday afternoon and 
evening, the great orchestra play all the latest operatic airs, 
and many thousands assemble to hear them, the railway 
coming in at the back of the hotel continually increasing 
their numbers. Then, as the evening falls, the blaze of the 
illumination and fireworks is added, and it gives the scene, 
with the crowds, the music, and the general jollity, the air 
of a great festival. Just east of the Brighton is its bath- 
house, another immense structure, containing fifteen hundred 
separate bath-rooms, while roadways are constructed for the 
bathers from the rooms down to the surf The bathing- 
ground is inclosed by poles and ropes, so that there is no 
danger, and the ropes give support when the waves are rough. 
The season is most too early, however, for many yet to bathe, 
so the crowds who sat in the chairs along the edge of the 
sand and sipped their beer did not get much amusement of 
that kind. The entire lower part of this house is arranged 
as a restaurant and a theatre and exhibition-hall, all being in 
full operation throughout Sunday. Out in front the sea rolls 
in on a smooth sandy shore, and plenty of vessels can be seen 
going in and out New York harbor, their routes being right 
in front of us. The apothecary-shop and doctor's office are 
in a big pavilion, near by, where the public helped them- 
selves freely to soda-water. 



96 BBJEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 



SOME BRIGHTON ENTERTAINMENTS. 

Here is the place where for the price of ten cents an indi- 
vidual takes the contract to keep all children until their parents 
return for them. He has an extensive establishment well 
stocked with playthings, including many swings and veloci- 
pedes, and any amount of sand and shovels and buckets. Here 
the children can amuse themselves and have a good time, in- 
stead of being dragged around in the hot sun as their parents 
perambulate over the island. Crandall, who invented this 
establishment, got ten cents for taking care of my little girl, 
and is a public benefactor who gets plenty of custom at Coney 
Island. Here, also, is the office of the Coney Ma7id Daily 
News, a small building with a big top formed by its sign, which 
seems to be the most important part of the structure. Also 
here is the " Scientific Fortune-Tellcr," a damsel, whose 
transcendent beauty is enhanced by a small patch of court- 
plaster on her chin. She sits in a booth, and for ten cents 
tells your fortune, which is produced neatly printed in an en- 
velope, after certain cabalistic motions are indulged in over a 
couple of images enclosed in tubes, and which, as they danced 
up and down to her motions, she called her " Coney Island 
angels." My fortune contained the usual photograph of the 
lady whom I am to marry, but I am afraid my wife won't let 
me. Here also is the old gentleman who figured at the Cen- 
tennial engaged in cutting silhouette profiles out of black 
paper. He has plenty of business, and says his little girl 
tells him he only comes home to count his money and go to 
bed. Here you can get weighed for five cents, after you have 
filled up with the " clam chowder," which is announced on 
placards in all directions. And here, as everywhere else on 
Coney Island, the most elaborate preparations are made for 
seiA^ing meals, for the vast crowds who go there must be fed. 
There are also fully as extensive arrangements for selling 
beer, for no Sunday law seems to reach as far as Coney 
Island, and the thirst its atmosphere inspires is of a most 
consuming character. Here, too, the Marionettes and the 
little Midgets are giving their exhibitions*all day Sunday 
in the Brighton Museum, their entertainment, according to 
the programme, being " conducted by the leaders of fashion- 
able society." In this " Convention of Curiosities," Major 



CONEY ISLAND. 97 

Tot, weighing ten and a half pounds, and Colonel Ruth 
Goshen, weighing six hundred and sixty-six pounds, get 
along very nicely together, and the colonel takes his chowder 
with much satisfaction when noon arrives, for we saw his 
dinner come in, although not announced in the bills. Plenty 
of rifle-ranges abound, and the amateur marksmen are pop- 
ping away at the targets. 

MANHATTAN BEACH. 

Let us take the " Marine Railway" down to Manhattan 
Beach. It runs about a third of a mile, with open cars, over 
a part of the island as yet unimproved, and at five cents a 
head is said to have repaid the entire cost of construction in 
a single season. As we ride along, there can be seen, back 
of the island, the extensive marshes, intersected by creeks, 
that breed the mosquito who quietly sings his own tune 
around the porches of the hotels while the great bands play. 
Across these meadows run, as the afternoon advances, the 
long trains of open cars bringing the crowds down from 
New York and Brooklyn. The " Marine Railway" takes us 
to Manhattan Beach. Here is the great Manhattan Hotel 
of the Corbins, another extensive frame structure, with broad 
piazzas and pyramid-topped towers, and an extensive surface 
in front covered with board walks, lawns, and flower-beds. 
Another grand music-stand is surrounded by crowds, and an- 
other railway from Brooklyn brings its stream of humanity 
to the hotel's back door. The extension of the " Marine 
Railway" goes farther east past the Oriental Hotel, but the 
distance is not very great. Between them is the vast bathing 
establishment for the two hotels, which belong to the same 
owners, — this enormous bath-house with its avenues leading 
down to the surf having two thousand seven hundred bath- 
rooms. As we go eastward towards the Oriental, we get 
into upper-tendom. Here promenade the French " bonnes," 
wearing outlandish dresses and trimmings, endeavoring to 
take care of toddling infants. They have sodded all the 
vacant ground between the two hotels, but have poor success 
in raising grass. Not a tree is to be seen nearer than on the 
fast land back over the marshes, a mile away towards Brook- 
lyn. Beyond the great bathing pavilion is another vast 
restaurant, and beyond this the Oriental Hotel, four stories 
E <7 9 



98 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

high, with Louvre domes, slender round columns, and mina- 
rets on top, extended piazzas enclosing it like all the others. 
Here live chiefly New York and Boston nabobs, few from 
Philadelphia venturing so far towards the rising sun. It is 
the largest hotel and most imposing building in its archi- 
tecture on Coney Island. The excursionists do not wander 
much down this way, and this promotes the Oriental exclu- 
siveness. They are lucky, however, for the heat and glare 
from the extensive board walks as the sun shines on them is 
almost intolerable, but^he moment you get under the shade 
of a piazza in front of the hotel there is a deliciously cool 
breeze. These two great hotels have veranda awnings rigged 
in front of almost every window on the southern sides, and, 
high though their prices may be, they get plenty of custom. 

WEST BRIGHTON BEACH. 

Now let us again thread our way through the crowds, and 
go westward from Brighton Beach towards the Iron Pier. 
Stages run along the Concourse to West Brighton, and there 
is also an Elevated Railway, so that by either the mile of 
vacant beach can be traversed for five cents. There have 
been trees planted along the Concourse, but they do not grow 
very well, and here we pass the single charitable establish- 
ment Coney Island yet possesses, — the " Brooklyn Seaside 
Home for Children." At West Brighton we alight amid a 
maze of hotels, restaurants, and shows, all in full operation. 
Here are Punch and Judy, and the fat boy, nine feet around 
the waist, the Spanish students, and the mermaid, all giving 
their Sunday exhibitions. Here are flying-horses and veloci- 
pedes and swings, some of them being machines of great size, 
capable of riding fifty to a hundred people at one time ; and 
the old folks as well as the children were going merrily 
around. Here are organs and bands of music playing with- 
out number, with crowds everywhere watching what is going 
on and enjoying themselves. In front of all this aggrega- 
tion of amusements is Vanderveer's great bathing pavilion, 
and a dozen hotels are around, while at booths on the ground 
they draw iced milk for the thirsty out of big reservoirs 
shaped like cows. Some of the swings run by steam-power. 
These mechanical contrivances for the public amusement are 



CONEY ISLAND. 99 

constructed on a grand scale, and equal the agG;regation of 
such novelties that is found at a French, fete. There are also 
establishments for playing base-ball ; shooting-galleries and 
rifle-ranges ; machines for testing strength ; and every place 
has its representatives shouting at the crowd to come and in- 
vest their nickels; while the music everywhere is playing 
its liveliest airs to entertain the good-humored crowd. In 
this locality are several big hotels. — Cable's, and Bauer's 
"West Brighton Hotel, the Sea-Beach Palace, and others, — 
and the West Brighton Terrace, which is located here, is full 
of smaller establishments, all with flags flying, whose chief 
devotion seems to be to the great Coney Island luxury, — the 
clam. Here is the " Hotel de Clam," a pavilion where they 
cook the clams in full view ; and also the " Louisiana Sere- 
naders," where you can see the show for twenty-five cents 
and have " a Genuine Old Style Coney Island Clam Roast" 
thrown in. The " Ihpetonga" furnishes the " Rhode Island 
Clam Bake and Shore Dinner." There, in addition to the 
food, you are also presented with the " Song of the Clam," 
wherein occurs the following : 

" On the ocean-shore, where the billows roar, 
And the winds and ripples flirt, 
In the tumbling foam I've built my home, 
And there I live and spirt. 

" Oh ! who would not be a clam like me, 
By maiden's lips embraced ? 
And men stand by with jealous eye, 
While I grip the fair one's waist. 

"Who better than I? In chowder or pie, 
Baked, roasted, raw, or fried, 
I hold the key to society, 

And am always welcome inside." 

The denizens of the West Brighton Terrace, as they listened 
to the bands of music and the minstrel performances, seemed 
all to be partaking of a diet of clams and beer, — in fact, the 
children and babies were drinking their beer the same as the 
old folks. In addition to everything else, the place is also 
full of peddlers, who go about with their baskets selling all 
sorts of knick-knacks. This scene is repeated for a long dis- 
tance along the beach towards the West End, and the im- 



100 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

mense scale on wliich the arrangements are made for eating, 
shows how extensively Coney Island is patronized. It looks 
as if nearly a hundred thousand could sit down to dinner at 
the same time, the restaurants are so large and numerous. 
There are " Safe Deposit Companies," where the lunch-bas- 
kets and parcels are taken care of, and photographers also 
make a good thing at taking pictures on the beach. This is 
the cheap end of Coney Island, — the fee for almost every- 
thing is five cents, even for the *' Tyrolean Concert," where the 
gaudily-dressed vocalists, behind a screen, screech almost loud 
enough to be heard at New York, — a necessity to overcome 
the racket made by a half-dozen neighboring bands. The 
farther westward you go, however, the style of the place 
degenerates. 

ON THE OBSERVATORY. 

Let us ascend the great Observatory, and, from an eleva- 
tion of three hundred feet, get a bird's-eye view of Coney 
Island. When you have got to the top, a journey taking 
about three and one-quarter minutes, the first impression is 
made by the clangor of the myriads of bands of music be- 
low, — heard with much greater clearness than when on the 
ground. The sound comes up from all imaginable struc- 
tures, built of frame and mostly with pitch and gravel roofs. 
From this elevated perch Coney Island is seen spread out, 
a long strip of sand upon the edge of the ocean, with the 
surf rolling in upon it. To the eastward, towards the 
Brighton, it bends backward, like a bow, presenting the 
convex side to the sea. To the westward the curve is re- 
versed, and the point of the island ends with a knob, and a 
hook on the northern side. The Concourse, covered with 
moving vehicles, curves around just inside of the surf-line, 
and the big hotels on Manhattan Beach are seen far away 
beyond it to the eastward. Behind the sand-strip there are 
patches of grass and plenty of marsh land, while to the north- 
ward can be traced the little stream and series of lagoons 
separating the island from the mainland. Far away north-* 
ward are the hills on which are Greenwood Cemetery and 
Prospect Park, with Brooklyn behind them. The two broad 
Park roads run off over the lowlands towards Prospect Park, 
and at least a half-dozen steam railways stretch out in the 



CONEY ISLAND. 101 

same direction, some crossing the marshes on long trestles. 
Beneath our feet on the beach and adjoining open spaces 
many thousands of people are walking about, while on the 
ocean side two piers — one unfinished — extend out in front 
of us, with their steamboats sailing to and from the Narrows 
to the northwestward. Music can be heard at the outer end 
of the Iron Pier, and far away over the water can be seen 
Sandy Hook and the hills of the Navesink and Staten Island. 
The eastward view over the land is closed in by the sand 
beaches of Rockaway jutting out beyond a bay. Haze covers 
the distant sea, and few vessels are in sight. 

As the day changes to night, and the glorious sunset pales, 
the artificial lights come out, — gas and electricity vying with 
colored lanterns to make a general illumination. Fireworks 
burst from the great hotels and the music renews its sweetest 
strains. The/e^e goes on, a scene of uninterrupted pleasure, 
after dark, until the crowd gets an idea that it is time to go 
home. Then comes a rush for steamboat and railway. The 
current sets towards Brooklyn and New York by land and 
sea alike. The crowds who have been so good-humored all 
day are still well-behaved, and they stream through the ticket- 
gates, a resistless tide. It is when going-home time comes, 
and these swelling currents of humanity flow out upon station 
and pier, that the magnitude of a Coney Island Sunday crowd 
can be best compassed. No other watering-place on either 
continent has such a vast aggregation of people near by to 
draw upon. The English Brighton is sixty miles away from 
London, while the American Brighton is within a few min- 
utes' ride of New York and Brooklyn, almost as easy of access 
as Fairmount Park is to Philadelphia. Therefore has Coney 
Island become within the brief period that it has taken the 
crowds to discover its attractions — the greatest wateringr 
place in the world. 



9* 



102 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

XIV. 
THE HUDSON KIVEK. 

THE AMERICAN RHINE. 

Let us start upon probably the finest single day's excursion 
available for the people of Philadelphia, — a steamboat ride 
on the Hudson Eiver to West Point and Newburg. The 
Pennsylvania Railroad has arranged this excursion from Phil- 
adelphia for every Thursday, the staunch steamboat " Rich- 
ard Stockton" connecting at Jersey City with the seven a.m. 
train from West Philadelphia, going up the Hudson to New* 
burg, beyond West Point and the Highlands, and returning 
in the afternoon, so that the Philadelphians can get home by 
an evening train. This journey on the magnificent river, not 
inappropriately termed the " Rhine of America," discloses 
the finest river scenery on the Atlantic seaboard, and although 
it takes only one day to make the visit, it will take more than 
one to tell the story in the Ledger. 

The steamboat " Richard Stockton" bears an honored New 
Jersey Revolutionary name. She is two hundred and seventy- 
two feet long, and is permitted to carry fifteen hundred pas- 
sengers, though for assured safety the number is restricted to 
one thousand. She has been thoroughly refitted, and Captain 
Robert Bloomsburg has a splendid craft to command. Cap- 
tain Jim Herring, her venerable pilot, who has sailed New 
York harbor almost since steamboats were known, carefully 
steers the vessel out of the long slip alongside the ferry at 
Jersey City, and after some whistling starts up the Hudson, 
between Jersey City and New York, the Pennsylvania symbol, 
a red keystone, being emblazoned on the smoke-stack. The 
river is full of steam vessels, many of which salute us, and 
the big ferry-boats are dotted all over the surface, sailing 
back and forth across the Hudson. On either hand are long 
lines of docks and vessels. Huge elevators are on the Jersey 
City shore for grain-loading, while many a prominent and 
well-known building can be picked out from the mass of 



THE HUDSON RIVER. 103 

houses on the New York side. The river is too broad, how- 
ever, for a close view, and tlius we steam along the three- 
quarters of a mile of docks the Pennsylvania Railroad owns 
in Jersey City, and where they have such complete shipping 
arrangements that a steamer can be loaded and discharged at 
the same time. Above are the Erie Railway wharves and 
ferries, also extending a long distance, and including the big- 
Erie basin. Over to the right hand, on the New York side, 
are the docks of the great lines of Hudson River and Long 
Island Sound boats, and also of most of the European steam- 
ers ; and a fleet are getting ready to cross the ocean. We 
pass Hoboken, where the river-front begins to rise in a bluif 
shore, and here, in strange contrast with the commercial aspect 
of everything around, is a delicious grove of trees on top of 
the bluff, running up into a low mound, whereon is built the 
Stevens Castle. This was the home of Edwin A. Stevens, 
one of the railway princes of New Jersey, and the king, in 
his day, of " Camden and Amboy." He drew his dividends 
with regularity, and spent a good deal of them in building 
the great war-ship known as the " Stevens battery." This 
powerful iron-clad, intended for New York harbor defence, 
on which Stevens spent millions, and over which he watched 
with daily care, for she was constructed almost alongside his 
home, was at one time the most famous war-ship in the 
country. The construction-dock is now devoted to the peace- 
ful purposes of the Hoboken ferry. Stevens bequeathed her 
as a legacy to the State of New Jersey, and that prudent 
Commonwealth sold her at auction to the highest bidder — for 
scrap-iron. Hoboken has other good cause to remember 
Stevens, for here he founded the " Stevens Institute of Tech- 
nology," with an endowment of a half-million. The Dela- 
ware, Lackawanna and Western Railroad has its wharves and 
ferries at Hoboken, and here they also make the lead-pencils 
of the American Company, which my journalistic brethren 
use so extensively in furnishing news to the public. Hoboken 
got its name from a village on the Scheldt, near Antwerp, 
and its Dutch paternity is prominent to this day. Off the 
town lies at anchor an American war-ship, and near her one 
of the prettiest little steam-yachts afloat — Mr. Lorillard's. 
Above the Castle, the Jersey shore of the Hudson becomes 
a steep rocky bluff, quickly taking us to Weehawken, whore 



104 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Burr killed Hamilton in the duel of 1804, when the site of 
the now busy town was a secluded spot out in the country. 
Just above is the great Guttenbero- Brewery, its big buildings 
built on the top and the side of the hill, down which a road 
slopes to the boat-landing in front, while over on the opposite 
bank, in the upper part of New York City, are the great New 
York Central grain- elevators. 

NORTH RIVER VILLAS AND BUILDINGS. 

We have now run beyond the commercial regions and 
find the Hudson River banks gradually transformed into a 
succession of villas, the shores exhibiting a constant pano- 
rama of fine houses and grounds, built on the bordering 
bluffs. On the Jersey side, while villas are on top of the 
hills, little villages are down at their foot, just at the river's 
edge, each with a boat-landing. This is the region known 
as ""Pleasant Valley," a popular suburban resort for New 
York, and at the upper part of it is Fort Lee, as yet some 
distance above us, but with the sun brightly shining on its 
white buildings, surrounded by green foliage, on the hill-side. 
The bold blufi" opposite, on the New York shore, is known 
as Manhattanville, and its villas are copiously supplied with 
shade-trees in their elevated perches. Here are the ancient 
mansion of Lord Courtenay, the large brick Manhattan Col- 
lege, the Convent of the Sacred Heart, and the dark-colored 
brick structure, of ample proportions, used for the Colored 
Orphan Asylum. In many places this Manhattanville bluff" 
rises steeply from the river. In a depression, where One 
Hundred and Fiftieth Street comes out (which if produced 
would reach Harlem over on the East River side), is the 
Soldiers' and Sailors' Home, a red brick structure, with a 
cupola in front, and spire at the rear, built some distance 
back from the shore. A short distance above, on a sloping 
lawn, and surrounded with trees, is a small mosque-like 
house, with a large dome, and this surmounted by a smaller 
gilded dome. This is James Gordon Bennett's suburban 
home, on Fort Washington Heights, and behind it, among 
the trees, are two comfortable villas. 



THE HUDSON RIVER. 105 



THE PALISADES. 

Over on the Jersey side, the fiice of the bUiff, which rises 
gradually higher and higher, is covered with trees, and we 
come to the white pagoda-like structure with double turrets, 
set upon the hill-side where Fort Lee used to be. There 
are other extensive buildings, also white, down at the capa- 
cious steamboat-landing, and here go many excursion-parties 
from New York, who enjoy the sail of about ten miles up the 
river. Above the Fort begins the Palisades, gradually rising 
liigher as we ascend the river. They are of trap-rock, a re- 
markable formation, — columned, and in parts appearing not 
unlike the amphitheatres surrounding the Giant's Causeway, 
in the north of Ireland. Here and there a patch of trees 
grows on their sides or top, while the broken rocks that have 
fallen down make a sloping surface from about half-way up 
their height to the water's edge. These strange rocks grad- 
ually rise from three hundred to five hundred feet in height, 
and they extend for more than fifteen miles along the Jersey 
shore. Perched on their brink, at almost the highest place, 
where the columns rise the boldest on the bank, at Lydecker 
Peak, is the Palisade Mountain House. It is a long, low, 
yellow structure, with a mansard-roof looking like a pleasure 
palace, patterned after the Tuileries of Paris. A flagstaiF 
surmounts it, and the brisk wind which is almost always 
blowing up there, straightens the standard out against the 
cloudy background. A wagon-road, looking like a streak, 
zigzags down to the boat-landing below. This grand escarp- 
ment of the Palisades — a giant fortress — gradually assumes 
greater magnitude as we advance up the Hudson, until, at 
their noblest point, the rugged columns thrust out an enor- 
mous jutting buttress into the river near Tarrytown. The 
wall is occasionally cut into narrow and deep ravines, and the 
people who live beyond to the westward get most perfect 
views of the picturesque stream through these rifts in the 
rock. They are said to be a primitive people, however, for 
the wall along the river divides two sections that are in sharp 
contrast. To the westward the inhabitants lead simple, un- 
eventful pastoral lives, in a sedate rural region of farms and 
dairies. To the eastward, the butterflies of ftishion come 
out of the great city to the towns and villas along the river 



100 jiRiKF s^■M^r^■:li nA}fnLES. 

to got u little (Voshiioss ami invigoration alter the season's 
dissipation. Tliev tell of wondrous sunsets and sunrises seen 
from the tops oi' the Palisades, but I have not yet been there 
to see. We glide on the bosom of the river, and look up at 
them from the steamboat-deeks, while an occasional pictu- 
resque sloop sails past ns down the stream, engaged in the 
unromantie oeeupation of transpm-ting brieks from llaver- 
straw. Long tows of Erie Canal barges also go by, dragged 
by those strange towboats, that look as if sailing backwards, 
their wheels being in front of the smoke-stacks. In tlu>se 
fleets of canal-barges lies the commercial supremacy of New 
Wnk. It was the digging of the Erie Canal that gave the 
metropolis its start, and even now, to maintain the trade, they 
are passing most of the boats through the canal free of tolls, 
as almost the only way to meet the sharp railway competition. 
The State pays the taxes to keep np the canal, but not with- 
out a steady grumble at the " Canal King," which has adapted 
New York 8tat<^ political science to the existing necessities 
of politicians through the careful use of dredging-machines. 
The political cash-extracting task allotted to " Star routes" 
in Washington and the '' Oclimiuent Tax-oiVice" in Thila- 
delphia is said to be largely perl'ormed in New York State 
through the medium of the Erie Canal dredges. 

FONTIIILL AND YONKEUS. 

As we go along the Palisades, the succession of stone-built 
and mansard-roofed villas continues on the opposite blufls 
along the New York bank, while the New York Central and 
Hudson Ixiver Kailroad, the Vanderbilt line, runs along the 
river's edge. Occasional points of land jut out and make 
pretty coves, and in one of these with a broad depression 
behind it, the Spuyten Duyvel Creek flows out, which marks 
the northern boundary of IManhattan Island. As every- 
where else in this neighborhood, villas are dotted on both 
the sloping shores bordering the creek, and as we move above 
the outlet^ and look back, factories can be seen on its banks, 
with a background oi" green hills away inland in the regions 
of Westchester County. Far ofl" on these hill-sides are more 
pretty suburban homes. Then, as we still move northward, 
the depression narrows, making a long vista-view down 
towiu'ds Morrisania and Harlem, that gradually closes as a 



THE HUDSON RIVER. 107 

railway-tniin of yellow cars run.s Hwiftly along the river-bank 
in front. 

Wc pasH the village of Rivordalc, and not far above (about 
sixteen miles from New York) come to the gray-stone castle 
at "■ Font Hill," surmounted by a cross, and having the largo 
and ornamented red brick convent of Mount St. Vincent 
beiiind it. It was here that Edwin Forrest, in 1850, built 
his castle home, with moat and drawbridge ; but he held the 
estate barely five years, selling it at a large advance on the 
original cost for the convent of Mount St. Vincent, which 
was removed there afterwards from its original location, on 
ground now forming part of New York Central Park. The 
convent is on tl^Q hill-side, while trees surround the castle, 
and the lawn sloping down in front to the river-bank has 
a pleasant little boat-house at the water's edge. Forrest's 
selection of a home could nowhere be exceeded in natural 
beauty. Almost the highest part of the grand wall of the 
Palisades is in front of the convent, while the river presents 
superb views in both directions. In front of us as we steadily 
advance up-stream, the high tree-clad banks spread out on 
either hand, and curving around appear to almost close the 
river channel, while the water is placid with but few vessels 
in sight. Just above Mount St. Vincent is a broad flat de- 
pression where the bluff recedes some distance from the New 
York shore. Here is built the town of Yonkers, seventeen 
miles from the city, the amphitheatre of hills around and 
behind the town being availed of as sites for many pretty 
houses. The Neperhan or Sawmill lliver, coming down over 
a series of rapids, enters the Hudson here, and its banks are 
the northern boundary of the corporate limits of the city of 
New York. Large factories border the stream, which fur- 
nishes valuable water-power, and the Hudson River Railroad 
runs in front of the town. Yonkers was the manor of the 
J^hilipse faniily, and their manor-house, two hundred years 
old, is used for the City Hall. It was originally named 
" Yonk-heer," the Dutch for the heir of a family, and the 
veritable ''yonk-heer" of the manor was born in this old 
house. She was a great belle in her day, — the famous Mary 
Philipse, — and, according to tradition, was one of the numer- 
ous early loves of Washington. It is not a large town, and is 
quickly passed by the rapidly-moving steairiboat ; the high 



108 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

bluflf comes back to tlie river-sliore again, and we are soon 
steaming along between the steep banks of the great river 
as before. More handsome houses — castellated yet comfort- 
able — are on the hill-sides and tops above Yonkers. 

HENDRICK HUDSON AND JOHN DOBBS. 

A mile or two above Yonkers, but with no relic to speci- 
ally locate it, is the point where Hendrick Hudson is said to 
have anchored his vessel when he first entered the river in 
1609. After discovering the mouth of the South River 
(now the Delaware) in August, he sailed northward, and early 
in September entered Sandy Hook, discovering the North 
River on the 11th, and subsequently sailing up and first cast- 
ing anchor at this point. Here, as the tide set so strongly 
inward, he thought the stream was a strait between two 
oceans, and the veritable " Northwest passage" of which he 
was in search. Indians came aboard in large numbers and 
traded with Hudson. Afterwards he ascended the river, 
through the Highlands and above the mouth of the Mohawk, 
and named it the " River of the Mountains," being more 
modest than his English admirers, who afterwards gave it 
his own name. A little farther on is the small but ambi- 
tious town of Hastings-on-the-Hudson, with its two or three 
poplar-trees alongside the ruins of a sugar-house, and the tall 
bluffs covered with trees. There Garibaldi, the Italian hero, 
is said to have usually come when he needed relaxation at 
the time that he was an exile in America and kept a soap and 
candle factory down on Staten Island. A long freight-train 
on the railway keeps us company for a while in the neighbor- 
hood of Hastings, but gradually draws ahead, showing that 
locomotives can go faster than steamboats. Opposite the 
town, the Palisades reach their highest point, five hundred 
and ten feet above the water, where the top of the rock is 
said to closely resemble an Indian's head. The passengers 
peer out and exercise their imaginations, but cannot see it^ 
though it is certainly there ; and one lady is sure she sees 
something that looks like a bull-dog's face. Having tired of 
searching for the Indian on the Palisades we turn around and 
see the tall clock-tower, with a wind-mill perched on top, 
which Dr. Huylcr has built on the bluff above Hastings, and 
compare the elock-face with our watches at 11.50 a.m. A 



THE HUDSON RIVER. 109 

mile above Hastinp;s is the village of Dobbs' Ferry, of Hevo- 
lutionary fame, where Arnold appointed his meeting-place 
with Andre to arrange for the surrender of West Point in 
1780, and where xindre, failing to meet him, stayed all night 
on board the sloop " Vulture" in the river, and then met Ar- 
nold the next night firther up, near Stony Point. The ven- 
erated Swede, John Dobbs, rowed this ferry during the Revo- 
lution, and the village is now torn into fictions by the various 
attempts of modern reformers to change its name. This 
controversy has been going on for eight years, ever since the 
aforesaid reformers, after a terrific fight, put a bill through 
the New York Legislature incorporating the town under the 
name of Greenburg. Then they tried to get the signs on 
the railway station changed, but the veteran station-master, 
Charles Gcsner, objected, the Vanderbilt influence sustained 
him, and Dobbs' Ferry remains as the name of the station. 
Next they appealed to the Federal Government, and got the 
post-office name changed to Greenburg, but old John Dobbs' 
admirers rallied in force, and, by a vigorous war upon the 
Administration, got the name changed back again. There 
has rarely been as much excitement about anything along the 
Hudson since Andre was hanged at Tappan, not fiir away, 
unless it was when an ambitious youth named Sneeden, who 
lived across the river, at the other end of the ferry, modestly 
proposed to substitute his own name for that of Dobbs. Now 
they have a club at the ferry, to which Cyrus W. Field and 
others belong, who nightly swear fealty to the spirit of the 
departed ferryman, and to never rest content until his hon- 
ored name is restored and Greenburg buried out of sight and 
hearing. Not far above here the Palisades, which, for fifteen 
miles, have kept us company, push out their grand final but- 
tress, and then begin to break down and approach their ter- 
mination at Piermont, not fir from the northern boundary of 
New Jersey, and the river broadens into Tappan Bay, just 
above. The village of Tappan, where Andre was hanged, is 
four miles back of Piermont. 

IRVING AND SUNNYSIDE. 

As the river widens into Tappan Bay, which in some places 
is three or four miles across, — the Tappan Zee of the original 
Dutch, — we approach Irvington. Here in a house with a 

10 



110 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

surmounting dome, some distance back from the shore, south 
of the village, lives David Dows, the ^reat New York corn 
merchant, while away off on a hill, to the northward and 
behind the village, is Cunningham Castle, with' its high- 
pointed tower. Irvington has some red brick houses in front 
on the shore, with others scattered back for a half-mile up 
the hill-side. Bierstadt, the artist, lives up on those hills, 
while north of Irvington is Mrs. Merritt's white marble pal- 
ace, with its hot-house and cupola, one of the finest estab- 
lishments on the banks of the Hudson. The fame of this 
locality, like that of the whole region hereabout, comes from 
the writings of Washington Irving, who lived and died at 
his modest home of Sunnyside, an old Dutch mansion, about 
a half-mile north of Irvington, the house, with its lawn in 
front, being just visible through the trees. He died a bach- 
elor, for Matilda Hoffman's love, cut off by her early death, 
he never forgot. His home of Sunnyside was the original 
of the Castle of Baltus Von Tassel, and in this region is 
located the " Legend of Sleepy Hollow." Tarry town is just 
above, and on the outskirts is the " Sleepy Hollow" itself, 
made by the valley of Pocantico Creek, where old Rip Van 
Winkle came out of the Highlands after his sleep of forty 
years. The little church alongside the creek in Sleepy Hol- 
low, as the steamboat passes, is just visible for an instant 
through the trees, the portico having a little cupola on top. 
But the dense grove on Tarrytown Point, which looks almost 
like an island, quickly hides it from view. Irving sleeps in 
the graveyard at Tarrytown, and his funeral procession passed 
through the Sleepy Hollow. It was about a half-mile back 
of Tarrytown that Andre was captured, alongside Andre's 
Brook, by Paulding, Williams, and Van Wert, after his in- 
terview with Arnold. A monument marks the place. In 
the grove on Tarrytown Point is the Grinnell Mansion, the 
foliage hiding everything but the little boat-landing in front. 
Over on the other side of Tappan Bay is Nyack, too far away 
for much to be seen. 

ROCKLAND ICE AND CROTON WATER. 

The Palisades have left us now, and the spurs of the Higli- 
lands are seen back of the western bank, rising into Hook 
Mountain and Ball Mountain, six hundred and fifty to seven 



THE HUDSON RIVER. HI 

Imndred and fifty feet high. Just above, the bluff comes out 
to the river again, and we pass that remarkable sheet of fresh 
water, almost on the edge of the river, yet elevated one hun- 
dred and sixty feet above it, known as Rockland Lake, famous 
for its ice. A long, narrow slide descends the hill-side to the 
bank where they send the ice down to the boats, and when 
the sun shines it seems almost like a stream of diamonds, 
llocklaud ice is but a small part of the New York supply 
now, for an immense amount is cut from the river itself. 1'he 
Highlands, as we move northward, gradually rise all across 
the horizon a dim and hazy bank, and off over Tappan Bay, 
to the eastward, are the long, low tiers of red and white 
buildings, with the railroad tunnelled through them, that 
make the Sing Sing prison. Here live a considerable number 
of the citizens of New York, and their predecessors, who 
were convicts a half-century ago, themselves built the most 
of their prison-house. The village is prettily situated on the 
hill-side, back of the prison. 

Above Sing Sing the river bends to the northwest, and 
Teller's Point, a most remarkable formation, extends half-way 
across the stream, and divides Tappan and Haverstraw Bays. 
Here, on the eastern side of the Hudson, is the Croton River 
and Lake, which are the source of water-supply for New 
l^ork. The Croton Aqueduct, over forty miles long, and 
built at a cost of twelve and a half millions of dollars, car- 
ries the water down to the city, crossing the High Bridge 
over the Harlem River. Thus has New York got her supply 
for the past thirty-nine years, but the city has grown so much 
that additional supplies have since been provided to reinforce 
the original Croton Lake. It was on Teller's Point, where 
a dense grove of trees now grows, that Dr. Underbill, one 
of the earliest American wine-growers, used to cultivate his 
grapes and make port wine. AH along the western shore, as 
we enter Haverstraw Bay, are the factories where machines 
break up the stones into Belgian blocks for street-paving. 

TREASON HILL AND STONY POINT. 

Thick woods cover the steep hills below Haverstraw, and 
an occasional green-clad knoll rises above them into the dig- 
nity of a mountain, one of them, the High Torn, just below 
the town, rising over eight hundred feet. But the hills 



112 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

recede from the river, and here, for two miles, spread along 
the shore, are those brick -yards that supply the vast number 
of sloops and floats that carry them down the river by mil- 
lions to build up New York City. Just above is the little 
hill not far from the river where Arnold and Andre had their 
clandestine meeting in the house of Smith, the T@ry, and 
which has since been known as Treason Hill. It is just 
below Stony Point, and Andre, when the meeting was over, 
crossed the river at King's Ferry to Verplanck's Point, on the 
eastern shore, and was making his way down towards the 
British headquarters at New York when he was captured. 
Above Treason Hill the river is suddenly narrowed to a half- 
mile width by the two rocky points extending almost across, 
both covered by trees, and having the great Donderberg 
Mountain, eleven hundred feet high, rising behind them, back 
of the western shore. Here is a region full of Revolutionary 
memories. Forts were built on the promontories on both 
banks, for they controlled the river, but the British captured 
them in 1779. Wayne, by one of the most magnificent 
movements of the war, subsequently surprised and recaptured 
Stony Point, dismantling and abandoning it afterwards. On 
the site of the old fort and out of some of its materials has 
since been built the light-house which here directs the navi- 
gator of the Hudson. It was on the level land behind Ver- 
planck's Point that Baron Steuben, earlier in the war, drilled 
the Continental soldiers. That region, just now, like Haver- 
straw, is devoted to the peaceful occupation of making bricks. 
We have now come to the southern gate of the Highlands, 
thirty-eight miles above New York, and will halt the descrip- 
tion for a day at the foot of the great Donderberg, where 
even now Irving's " little bulbous-bottomed Dutch goblin, in 
trunk-hose and sugar-loaf hat, with a speaking-trumpet in 
his hand," still pipes up the gales- and bolts in stormy weather 
around this Mountain of Thunder. 



THE HUDSON RIVER HIGHLANDS. 113 

XV. 

THE HUDSON EIVER HIGHLANDS. 
PEEKSKILL AND THE RACE COURSE. 

We have come on our good steamboat "Richard Stockton" 
through the narrow strait, a half-mile wide, between Stony 
and Yerplanck's Points, and have reached the famous Don- 
derberg. Now let us continue the description of the excur- 
sion through the Highlands. These are a range of mountains 
extending from the southwest towards the northeast, and 
rising in some cases to the height of nearly sixteen hundred 
feet. The Hudson Eiver breaks through them by a series 
of short bends, and presents, in the distance of about fifteen 
miles required to make the passage, some of the finest scenery 
in America. The river also passes through a region of great 
historical interest, whereof the pen of Irving has told the 
romance, and the Revolutionary historian the reality. The 
river runs towards the northeast, along the base of the Don- 
derberg, at the front of which the high limestone cliflF, just 
above Stony Point, is worked for a lime-quarry. The foot 
of the clifi", where it has been for many years cut away for 
the limekilns, looks almost like a fortress. There are few 
houses here, and the north wind, as we steam along, blows 
freshly, whistling through all the crevices and among the 
cordage of the boat. The great Donderberg, eleven hundred 
feet high, has its sides and top covered with trees. As we 
reach Verplanck's Point and its border of brick-yards, the 
town of Peekskill appears ofi" to the right, spread thinly along 
the edge of a little bay. The mountain range runs far away 
to the northeast, with the river flowing along its base, and 
from the view every one supposes that the river comes from 
the lowlands that appear beyond Peekskill. It was not re- 
markable, therefore, that one of the earliest Dutch skippers 
who invaded this locality in search of the " Northwest Pas- 
sage" sailed his sloop in that direction, got into a creek, and 
soon ran aground. This was the misadventure of honest 
h 10* 



114 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Jan Peek, who made tlie best of it, however, and, seeing that 
the soil of the valley was fertile, determined to stay there. 
Hence the settlement has been called Peekskill. Here, in 
the summer-time, lives Henry Ward Beecher, just outside of 
the town ; and here, during the Revolution, on the point of 
land just above Peekskill, stood Fort Independence, now in 
ruins. The Franciscan convent of " Our Lady of Angels". 
is also on the river-bank, just south of the town. 

As we steam along, the majority of the passengers are sure 
the river channel ought to run up where Jan Peek went, and 
such certainly seems the natural course. The mountains 
blend so well that you cannot see the narrow southern gate 
of the Highlands. Suddenly we make a right-angled turn to 
the left, around the jutting base of the Donderberg, at Cald- 
well, apparently right into the face of the mountain, and here 
is seen where the river breaks through. It is a narrow gate- 
way into the Highlands, the rough rocks being partially 
covered with trees, and the river makes a tortuous passage 
between the Donderberg and the higher mountain on the 
eastern bank. Thus we enter the region that gives the Hud- 
son the name of the " Rhine of America." But the moun- 
tains are higher than those the Rhine has to show, and, as 
the mountain-pass is more contracted, so its scenery becomes 
grander. We have not yet the castellated and vine-clad hills 
that are the charm of the Rhine ; but they are already making 
a beginning at grape-culture on these precipitous mountain- 
sides, and, though we cannot tell of the robber chieftains, 
who inhabited the castles of the Rhine, we can describe the 
far nobler story of the Revolution, whose main strategy and 
greatest treason were enacted in this Highland region. Just 
as we enter the narrow strait, lona Island appears ahead of 
us, tree-clad and attractive. Here the winds blow at a lively 
rate, buffeted from one mountain-side to the other. No matter 
how calm it may be outside, a breezy commotion is generally 
going on among these mountains, and the gales whistle as we 
steam along the river through the " Race-course," where the 
tide runs at wild speed as it sweeps grandly around the base 
of the great mountain on the eastern side. Small sailing 
craft tack across the narrow passage, making navigation diffi- 
cult. It is not all romance here, however. Schooners are 
tied to the shore, getting loads of stone and wood, while there 



THE HUDSON RIVER HIGHLANDS. 115 

are occasioDally long slides on the mountain-side, where they 
shoot the cord-wood down. Broeken Kill falls into the river 
on the eastern bank, and we skirt along the excursion-ground 
of lona Island. Here, nestled among the mountains, is this 
charming little island, with rocky reefs all around it, making- 
landing dangerous at the little wharf for a big steamer. Out 
of the rocks, wherever they can hold on, trees are growing, 
while behind the island, to the westward, a broad depression 
in the mountain range, north of the Donderberg, gives pretty 
views as the cloud-shadows cross it. 

Anthony's nose. 

As we sweep around the base of the mountain to the east- 
ward, the river passes its jutting point where the great Van- 
derbilt railway has pierced a tunnel. This is the famous 
" Anthony's Nose," and the tunnel makes, on either hand, 
the nostril. It is a noble mountain, its huge tree-clad sides 
rising grandly to the clouds, while just above the railway 
tunnel the rocks and trees make a first-class pimple as an or- 
nament to the " Nose," It is one of the most prominent 
peaks of the Highlands, and while no one knows how it got 
its name, the veracious historian Knickerbocker tells his 
theory, which we may as well accept for want of a better. 
*• Now I am going to tell," writes this famous chronicler of 
early New York, " a fact which I doubt much my readers 
will hesitate to believe ; but if they do, they are welcome 
not to believe a word in this whole history, for nothing which 
it contains is more true. It must be known then, that the 
nose of ' Anthony, the Trumpeter,' was of a very lusty size, 
strutting boldly from his countenance like a mountain of 
Golconda, being sumptuously bedecked with rubies and other 
precious stones — the true regalia of a king of good fellows — 
which jolly Bacchus grants to all who bouse it heartily at the 
flagon. Now thus it happened that bright and early in the 
morning the good Anthony, having washed his burly visage, 
was leaning over the quarter railing of the galley, contem- 
plating it in the glossy wave below. Just at this moment 
the illustrious sun, breaking in all his splendor from behind 
a high bluff of the Highlands, did dart one of his most potent 
beams full upon the nose of the sounder of brass, the reflec- 
tion of which shot straightway down, hissing hot into the 



116 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

water, and killed a mighty sturgeon tliat was sporting beside 
the vessel. This huge monster, being with infinite labor 
hoisted on board, furnished a luxurious repast to all the crew, 
being accounted of excellent flavor, except about the wound, 
where it smacked a little of brimstone ; and this, on my ve- 
racity, was the first time that ever sturgeon was eaten in 
these parts by Christian people. When the astonishing 
miracle became known to Peter Stuyvesant, and he tasted 
of the unknown fish, he, as may well be supposed, marvelled 
exceedingly, and, as a monument thereof, he gave the name 
of ' Anthony's Nose' to a stout promontory in the neighbor- 
hood, and it has continued to be called ' Anthony's Nose' 
ever since that time." As we round the extremity of the 
nostril our pilot sounds his steam-whistle. It reverberates 
through the hills for a long time. The wind whistles, and 
at short notice the ancient Dutch goblins who infest this 
weird region can get up a fierce storm. 

THE APPROACH TO WEST POINT. 

Opposite the great mountain on the western bank a little 
bay runs up into the hills and forms the mouth of Mont- 
gomery Creek. On the rocks at the entrance to the creek, 
one on either side, stood the great defenders of the Hudson 
lliver during the early Revolution, Forts Montgomery and 
Clinton. They were considered impregnable works in that 
day, and, to effectually bar the river-passage, an iron chain 
on timber floats was stretched across the river to Anthony's 
Nose. But, by strategy, the British in 1777 surprised the 
garrisons, captured the forts, and destroyed the chain, though 
soon afterwards Burgoyne's surrender compelled them to 
abandon the whofe of that country and retire towards New 
York. A flagstaff on the hill-side north of the creek marks 
where Fort Montgomery was. As we round the base of 
Anthony's Nose, the charming Sugar-Loaf Mountain comes 
in view on the eastern bank, standing apparently almost by 
itself, though it has several smaller companions. Here on 
the river's edge, in a most romantic situation, has been built 
a chemical factory, and schooners at the wharf are loading 
carboys of acids. The workmen's houses are built on a bare 
rock by the water-side, where nothing will grow, and the 
children are running about in imminent danger of falling 



THE HUDSON RIVER HIGHLANDS. 117 

overboard. Not a tree or a bush, or, so far as can be seen, 
a single patch of grass grows on this desolate spot. Yet 
back on the hill-sides there are extensive vineyards laid out, 
showing that wine-growing is becoming a prominent industry 
on these mountain-sides, as it is along the llhine. The 
vista views along the river and through some of the valleys 
between the mountains are magnificent. There is anr occa- 
sional villa on the western bank. 

In front of us is seen the little town of Garrisons', on the 
eastern bank, and over on the opposite shore Cozzens' Hotel, 
perched up on the cliff, opposite the Sugar-Loaf Mountain. 
Behind this mountain, on the top of another conical hill, 
and all alone, without a habitation for a long distance around, 
is perched a little house with a steeple. It is built of brown- 
stone, quarried on the hill-top where it stands, for the builder 
would have had diflficulty in getting the stones carried up 
there. The solitary individual who lives there has a superb 
view through the Highlands, west and north, and can see 
away past West Point to Newburg, beyond the mountains. 
His artistic tastes are gratified, however, at some sacrifice of 
personal convenience, for he has to go a long way down-hill 
to market. As we approach the landing at the base of the 
cliff underneath Cozzens' Hotel, the dome on the West Point 
Library and the barracks can be seen some distance ahead, 
though the jutting cliffs of the eastern bank obscure the 
Point itself As we float into the landing the beautiful cas- 
cade known as the Buttermilk Falls runs down over the 
rocks into the river, and a little villa stands on a promontory 
near by, while below is a school-building into which the 
hotel-boarders sometimes overflow when the summer crowds 
are most numerous. As we pass almost under the edge of 
the hotel, but several hundred feet beneath it, a flag floats 
from the staff on the promontory above, and we look straight 
up towards the building, but the trees growing from the 
jutting crags almost hide it from view. A road runs down 
an inclined plane on the face of the cliff, to the steamboat- 
landing some distance north of the hotel. Omnibuses are 
there to haul visitors up the hill, and as we approach our 
band plays. Just above, where workmen are blasting the 
rocks for a railway tunnel, they let off a blast, and it echoes 
and re-echoes among the hills. Few landlords have a finer 



118 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

place for their hotels than Mr. Hiram CranstoD, who presides 
over Cozzeus'. He looks down upon one of the noblest of 
river views. 

WEST POINT ACADEMY. 

At the little village of Garrisons', on the eastern bank, is 
the railway station for West Point, and a ferry goes across 
the river. But the great military post will soon have a 
railway and station on its own side of the Hudson. At the 
edge of the water, along the bases of these great cliffs, a new 
railway is being constructed, and workmen are at intervals 
blasting rocks and boring tunnels. Soon, like the Rhine, the 
Hudson will htive a railroad on either bank, Railroads are 
no respecters of persons or places, and even Uncle Sam has 
to succumb to their convenience, for the constructors of this 
new road have bored a tunnel right under the West Point 
Academy itself. Its black exit can be seen underneath the 
barracks as we approach. About a mile above Cozzens' 
Landing is the Government landing for West Point, with 
guards pacing the wharf Another inclined plane for a road- 
way runs up the hill towards the military post at the north- 
ward. In front of this road and among the trees on the 
hill-side stands the monument to General Custer. Other 
monuments to military heroes are scattered about in beautiful 
positions, and in time this place will become the Westminster 
Abbey for our army. Above us West Point itself juts out 
into the river, with a light-house on the end. The river 
bends sharply around it towards the right. The steamboat 
sweeps with a quick turn around the extremity of the Point, 
which is a moderately sloping rock covered with trees, mostly 
cedars. On its highest part is the monument of Kosciusko, 
who had much to do with the construction of the military 
works. The reef which forms the Point goes deep down into 
the river. The barracks and buildings ai^e around the parade- 
ground, some distance inland from the extremity of the 
Point, but plainly visible both down and up the river. They 
are low, shed-like structures, without much architectural 
beauty, one looking like a railway station with its curved 
roof. Behind them rises the library with its dome, built on 
higher ground. West Point is not so high as the surround- 
ing mountains, but its position, in a military sense, commands 



THE HUDSON RIVER HIGHLANDS. 119 

the river both ways. From the extremity of Gee's Point 
above, was extended a chain, during the hiter years of the 
Revolution, over to Constitution Island, near the eastern 
bank, to obstruct the river-passage. The rocks just at the 
river's edge at West Point are worn smooth, it is said, by so 
many cadets sitting there in the summer- time. Just above 
is a little cove, where they go to swim in the water, and on 
the shore back of the cove are the foundries and the artillery 
practice-ground, it being the habit to fire the cannon at a 
great mountain which rises to the northward. Here we seem 
to be in a basin surrounded by mountains, but there is a long 
view ahead of us through the opening in the chain, towards 
the lower land at Newburg. The river where we are is nar- 
row and the water deep, the tidal currents running swiftly 
through the restricted passage. 

West Point is about fifty miles above New York, and the 
Government domain covers two thousand one hundred acres. 
A plain on which the buildings are situated covers some one 
hundred and sixty ax;res, at about one hundred and eighty 
feet elevation above the river, but the mountains around rise 
to the height, in some cases, of fifteen hundred feet, the 
highest being the huge mountain to the northward, at which 
they fire the cannon, and known as the Old Crow Nest. Just 
south of the Academy, on a hill six hundred feet high, are 
the ruins of Fort Putnam, which was the chief work of West 
Point during the llevolution. Kosciusko mainly planned the 
Revolutionary works, and his monument was erected in 1828. 
The military school dates from 1802. Here the boys ap- 
pointed through political influence get a splendid education 
at Government expense, and most of them afterwards return 
to the duties of civil life, as the Academy turns out far more 
cadets than are necessary to officer our little army. 

WEST POINT SCENES AND HISTORY. 

Not far away from the parade-ground and overlooking the 
little cove to the northward of West Point, is the pleasant 
" Roe's" Hotel, where the parents of the cadets come to see 
how their boys show up at examination times, and to drink in 
the glorious view from the veranda, northward along the 
Hudson. In fiict, all the West Point views are superb, es- 
pecially when the summer thunder-clouds can be seen creep- 



120 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

ing along the mountain-sides to suddenly overwhelm you in a 
pelting tempest. Climb up on the summit of Mount Inde- 
pendence, to the ruins of old Fort Putnam, and there are a 
series of new and even grander views all around the High- 
lands. Go down the precipitous shore of the Point, to 
" Kosciusko's Garden," the brave Pole's favorite resort, where 
he used to lie down on the grass and read, regardless of the 
shot and shell occasionally sent up there from a war-ship in 
the river. Along the many paths at the Point, the names of 
famous victories have been cut in bold letters on the smooth 
fjices of the cliffs, to make a perpetual memorial surrounded 
by the green frames of the vine-clad rocks. But what is the 
life of the cadet soldier worth without a tinge of romance ? 
A broad driveway leads along the tops of the cliffs from Coz- 
zens' to West Point. Down along the most beautiful part of 
the shore runs the little path that generations of West Point 
love-making have known as " Flirtation Walk." Over on the 
opposite side is Cold Spring, with the little St. Mary's Church 
on the high hill-side, just below. Far away from the Academy 
grounds, and on the northern side of the Point, is the ceme- 
tery of the post, overlooking the river, where Winfield Scott 
and many another hero are buried, almost within the shadow 
of the Old Crow Nest. 

But West Point has its dark as well as its bright picture, 
for the greatest event associated with it was the treason of 
Benedict Arnold. He c^ommanded it for six weeks, in 1780, 
and plotted its surrender to the British for fifty thousand dol- 
lars and a title. It had been arranged with Andre, but the 
latter's unexpected capture suddenly overthrew the plan. It 
was at Beverly Robinson's house that Arnold first heard of 
the miscarriage of the plan, and made his sudden flight down 
to the British ship in the Tappan Zee. Just across the river 
from the Point they show you Beverly Cove, with its little 
wharf, where this house stood. Our steamboat sails along by 
the foundries at Cold Spring, where the " Parrott guns" were 
first made, and Constitution Island, now, however, connected 
with the mainland, where the mountains rise from fourteen 
hundred to sixteen hundred feet high on both banks. The 
railway-builders, are working on the sides of the precipitous 
cliffs, some of them fostened by ropes to prevent their sliding 
down into the river. 



THE HUDSON RIVER HIGHLANDS. 121 



THE STORM KING AND MOUNT TAURUS. 

We approach the Northern Gate of the Highhinds, where 
the river breaks into the mountain chain. On the western 
side rises the great Storm King, and on the eastern side 
Mount Taurus, with Breakneck JMountain beyond it. Mount 
Taurus is modernized from Bull Hill, so called because a wild 
bull was once chased by the indignant inhabitants across to 
the other mountain, where he fell and broke his neck. Thus 
one adventure named two mountains, but the moderns have 
not yet applied the Latinized name for a broken neck to the 
farther hill. The depression on top of the Old Crow Nest 
gave it its name, while the ancient Klinkersberg has been 
christened the Storm King by the late N. P. Willis. The 
Storm King rises fifteen hundred and twenty-nine feet high, 
and Mount Taurus fifteen hundred and eighty-six feet, cer- 
tainly most grand portals for the gate of the Highlands. 
There are frequent caves in these mountain-sides, and in one 
of them Captain Kidd is said to have buried his treasures, — 
a habit he had at a good many places, judging from tradition. 
The Storm King rises almost perpendicularly from the water, 
and near its base lives a fisherman, in a little cottage, where 
he has no neighbors to bother him. All around the base of 
the Storm King the workmen are making a railroad cutting, 
ropes holding them safely in their perilous perches as they 
drill blasting-holes and detach great masses of rock, that crash 
down into the water. 

We sail out of the Highlands into the broad expanse of 
river known as Newburg Bay. Its shores seem low, the 
mountains dwarfing them by comparison. Over on the western 
bank is Cornwall, and some pretty villas are on the northern 
base of the Storm King, The foundries at Cornwall make a 
great smoke. The range of Highlands run ftir away towards 
the northeast, with Beacon Hill standing prominently among 
them, — a Revolutionary signal station. Newburg Bay broad- 
ens, with the town just ahead, as we pass the little tree-clad 
island standing almost in the Highland gateway known as 
Pollipel's Island. " Idlewild," the residence of the late N. 
P. Willis, stands on the road between Cornwall and Newburg, 
but is not visible from the river. There are handsome houses 
along the shore, up towards Newburg, which rises in terraces 
F 11 



122 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

on the hill-side, with the Erie Railway coal-shipping piers at 
the southern border of the town. Fishkill Landing is over 
on the opposite shore. Brick-yards abound in this neighbor- 
hood, and one of the surprising features of the excursion is 
the suddenness with which the winds have died away since 
we passed out of the Highlands. Just at the edge of New- 
burg a sloping lawn, a short distance back from the river, 
has a flagstaff upon it and a background of trees, with a low 
old-fashioned building looking as if it was all roof. Tall 
chimneys rise above this historic house, which was Washing- 
ton's headquarters during the last campaign of the Revolu- 
tion, and is maintained as a relic by the State of New York, 
the building containing many Revolutionary heirlooms. At 
the foot of the flagstaff is buried the last survivor of Wash- 
ington's Life Guard, who died in 1856. The camp was some 
distance south of Newburg. 

At Weed & Stanton's ship-yard, on the shore at Newburg, 
James Gordon Bennett has his famous yachts built, and they 
are now constructing a new one for him, which is to be su- 
perior to everything in th-e yachting line afloat, and will cost 
one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. The streets of the 
town run steeply up the hill-side, a half-dozen steeples stand- 
ing up above the houses, which have plenty of foliage inter- 
spersed. These hill-side streets must be good for coasting 
in the winter-time, but I would not like to have the job of 
hauling the sleds back to the summit. Judging from the 
outward view as we tie up at the landing, Homer RamsdoU 
seems to be the patroon of Newburg. His villa is one of 
the finest up on the hills ; he is an Erie Railway director ; 
and the " Homer Ramsdell Transportation Company" is the 
legend on prominent signs on the water-front. Our excursion 
ends at Newburg, and the steamboat retraces the journey to 
New York. Let us close with another look south from New- 
burg, at the narrow opening of the river into the Highlands 
between the grand old Storm King and Mount Taurus. 
Down through this bewitching vista, closed up by a blue 
mountain beyond, gaze the happy people of Newburg, — but 
they are used to the grand sight, and probably think less 
about it than we do. 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 123 

XVI. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILKOAD. 

PHILADELPHIA TO BALTIMORE. 

Let us to-day make a journey over the latest acquisition 
of the Pennsylvania Kailway system, the railroad to Balti- 
more. It takes us out through the southwestern section of 
the city, past the big factories and brewery, the brick-yards 
and the Arsenal, until, approaching the Schuylkill, w^e can see 
the Almshouse, with its border of trees, over the river, and 
Woodlands Cemetery in full review as we cross the draw- 
bridge at Gray's Ferry. The road runs into a sandy soil on 
the other side, which the rain has streaked into deep gullies, 
and, upon the bank on the left-hand side, is the little granite 
monument commemorating the building of the railroad nearly 
fifty years ago. We go swiftly along the new road built on 
the high ground past Glenolden and Ridley Park, while the 
old road, down by the river-bank, is now used only as a 
Reading coal-carrier to Chester. Some of the stations are 
quite pretty, with their flower-gardens and sodded banks, 
especially Fifty-eighth Street, Bonnafion, Norwood, Paschall, 
Crum Lynne, and Ridley Park. We go across any num- 
ber of streams — Cobb's, Darby, Crum, Ridley, and Chester 
Creeks — and through a well-cultivated region, not so rich of 
itself as it has been made by scientific farming, and inter- 
spersed with plenty of woodland. We pass the ancient town 
of Darby, whose old mills were the first built in Pennsyl- 
vania, there having been three grist-mills there as early as 
1697, while its old Quaker meeting-house dates from 1()99. 
Darby Creek, which is crossed here, furnishes whetstones for 
almost the whole country, while Delaware County granite 
has built the Delaware Breakwater, and not a few buildings 
in Philadelphia. At Glenolden is the picnic grove that 
attracts so many visitors from the city, and here we approach 
the region of the earliest settlement along the Delaware, this 
country having been peopled by the Swedes many years 



124 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

before Penn founded Philadelphia. Off to the eastward from 
Glenolden, and down on the Delaware River shore, is the 
low-lying but rich land of Tinicum. The outlying island 
was the earliest settled of all Pennsylvania, for after the 
Swedes built their fort at the mouth of Christiana Creek, 
one of their officers, Colonel John Printz, came to Tinicum 
in 1643, and built the town of New Gottenburg. It existed 
many years, but was ultimately abandoned, and the soil where 
the town stood was washed away by river encroachments. 
There had been a church and graveyard there, and down to 
the early part of this century human bones were frequently 
found protruding from the river-bank. Tinicum has always 
been a land of fishermen and market-gardens, and in former 
days its inhabitants were noted for their quick response to 
changes in the beat of the political pulse ; for with such of our 
ancestors as were fond of early election returns it used to be 
a saying, " As Tinicum goes, so goes the State." But Tini- 
cum does not indulge so much in politics now. Her people 
cultivate their gardens and watch the visitors to the Fish 
House and the yellow quarantine flag on the Lazaretto, which 
in summer-time is the beacon that halts all in-bound Southern 
vessels. The country we are passing through, while pleasant 
to look upon, has nothing like the number of villas seen to 
the north and west of Philadelphia, fine country-houses being 
sparse in this direction, excepting at Norwood, Ridley Park, 
Thurlow, Crum Lynne, and one or two other stations. 

ANCIENT UPLAND. 

At Crum Lynne, where the land seems like a park, we 
come in sight of the Delaware River, seen off to the left 
over the level fields. We pass the Eddystone Mills down on 
the bank, and our train runs swiftly over the creek bridge 
and past the station at ancient Upland, now Chester, thirteen 
miles out, whereof one of the historians of Pennsylvania has 
written that it is " a mausoleum of newspapers," more 
journals having been born and died there than in any city 
of equal size in Pennsylvania. This, too, is in the land of 
original Swedish settlement, for they came cis early as 1645 
and settled Chester and Marcus Hook, the former being 
named Upland, which it retained until Penn afterwards 
changed the name. The Upland Court is noted as having 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 125 

tried the first divorce case in Pennsylvania, in 16G1, the 
quarrel causing it having arisen at I^larcus Hook ; and em- 
pannelled the first Pennsylvania jury, in 1G78. It was at 
Chester that Penn made his first landing in America, in 
1682, on ground now part of Essex Street, one of the oridnal 
streets of the town. The Quaker graveyard, on Edgemont 
Street, laid out the following year, is the most ancient me- 
morial Chester possesses. Dr. Preston, the founder of the 
Preston Retreat in Philadelphia, is buried there. The oldest 
house in Chester is said to be the Logan House, on Second 
Street, near Edgemont, built i,. 1700." The town has plenty 
of old houses, and its original City Hall dates back to 1724. 
It has furnished the country with several great men. John 
Morton, one of the signers of the Declaradon of Independ- 
ence, lies in a Chester graveyard, and the monument over 
him records the fact that he was the first of the signers who 
died (in 1777), and that he gave the castim? vote in the 
Pennsylvania delegation to Congress that decided for the 
Declaration of Independence. Admiral Porter was born in 
Chester, and Farragut spent most of his boyhood there as an 
inmate of Porter's father's household. Chester had the first 
Provincial Assembly convened by Penn, and as it is the oldest 
town in the State, so it was for a long period in its history 
one of the sleepiest, until about thirty years ago an infusion 
of new blood woke it up. Now it is among the busiest places 
on the Delaware, and its southern suburb,"Lamokin, contains 
the famous Roach ship-yards. The arrival of this energetic 
ship- builder from New York, and the advent of a Gimrd 
College orphan,— William Ward,— to represent the town in 
Congress, have made Chester a bustling as well as a famous 
city. Here also is the Pennsylvania Military Academy, set 
up on a hill to the west of the railroad, whence come th^ 
well-drilled corps of cadets who occasionally invade Philadel- 
phia to teach our young soldiers how to march. The low- 
lands hereabouts are liable, in rainy seasons, to sudden 
freshets, and the old folk still tell how, in 18-13, Chester 
Creek, in the short space of one hour, rose twenty-two feet, 
and flooded the town. As we passed Lamokin half the popu- 
lation were out, watching a well-contested game of base-ball 
in a field near tho railway. The road is located some distance 
back from the river, but the passing vessels are in full view 



11* 



ns ilic oai\^ run swiAly over (ho woll-laid tracks. 'V\\o oounlrv 
is lovol, ami uuu-h of it is dovotod (o uraziui;", it not boinp; 
nearly so (hiekly sottlod as tlio regions north oi' l*hiladi>l}>hia. 

LirTl.K DKl-AWAUK. 

Foiirtoon niilos down the railway, noar (^layniont. \yo roarli 
the State o{' Pelaware, and oross that reniarkahle northern 
boundary whieh was made in the ohlen time by describing an 
are with twelve miles radius, having its centre at the (\>urt- 
House in New Castle. Below here the railway runs nearer 
to the river, going almost along its edge, wliile the back 
country is a gentle upward slope, well wooded. For smne 
distance below Olaymont there is a iringe of pleasant little 
country-houses along the river-bank, with the water beyond 
them dotted with schooners, their white sails spread, while 
an occasional canal pn^peller drag-s a barge after it. iir^omo 
distance above Wilmington wo leave the river and cross a 
broad, level plain towards the town, which spreads far away 
to the westward. AVe oross the drawbridge over the broad 
Brandywine at the edge of the town, while a vessel waits to 
get a chance to go through the draw. This historic stream 
comes down past the battle-lield at Chadd's Ford, through a 
pictures(pu> country, and washes the base of the hills on 
Avhich a good part of Wilmington is built. Passing the rail- 
wav. it circles around through the level land, till it joins the 
Christiana Creek coming up from the southwest, and uniting 
their currents they flow about a mile farther into the Dela- 
ware. We run a short distance from the Bramlywine and 
enter Wilmington, the metropolis of the State oi' lX«laware, 
and a neat, thriving city, passing its ship-yards, railway-shops, 
car- factories, and mills of all kinds in full operation. The 
level plain stretcluv^ out I'rom the borders (d* the two creeks, 
and on it and the higher ground that rises up from the creeks 
Wilmington is built, some of its hills in the northwestern 
portion being two hundred and forty feet above the river 
level. The Brandywine also comes down-hill, for within lour 
miles of the city it falls no less than one hundred and twenty 
feet, furnishing magniticent water-power, used by paper-mills, 
ilonring-mills, and also by gunpowder-mills. It was in Wil- 
mington that iron ship building was first attempted, in this 
country, while the passenger-cars built there go all over the 



TUE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 127 

United States. It is not an ancient city, however, only dating 
from 1732 ; but on the Christiana Creek, about a half-mile 
down, they show you the spot where the first Swedish colony 
landed in America in l(jo8, while the quaint little Swedes' 
church, built in 1G98. in Wilmington, is still standing along- 
side the railway in a yard of ancient gravestones. 

All Baltimore trains stop at Wilmington, where the new 
owners of the line are building a handsome station ; and, 
having performed that duty, the train resumes the journey 
past many mills and also the extensive works of the Harlan 
& Ilollingsworth Company. This vast establishment, which 
builds ships and makes cars, spreads over a broad space along 
the Christiana, and below it are the phosphate-fertilizing fac- 
tories, that bring the phosphate rock from Charleston and 
send it back again converted into a manure. One might 
suppose that our Southern friends would learn how to do 
this for themselves. We are soon out of Wilmington and 
strike off across the country towards the head of Chesapeake 
Bay. The Christiana Creek flows on our left hand, the rail- 
way occasionally crossing its tributaries, and both the big and 
little creeks showing a disposition to make remarkable gy- 
rations in their course through the level land. Two miles 
below Wilmington, the Delaware Peninsula Railroad goes 
off southward towards New Castle and the peach country. 
Passing the mills at Stanton, the train runs swiftly along, with 
little to see but green fields and woods. The railroad leading 
westward from Delaware City is crossed, and we pass the fine 
hot-house and gardens at the station at Newark, which is 
the last town we see in crossing the upper end of Delaware. 
Just below, the Christiana Creek itself is crossed, here a very 
small stream, flowing southward, past the base of a wooded 
hill, probably not one hundred feet high, but looking like a 
mountain rising up from the flat country. 

MARYLAND AND THE CHESAPEAKE. 

The railroad enters Maryland in Cecil County, and ap- 
proaches the head of Chesapeake Bay. The Christiana was 
the last of the tributaries of the Delaware River, and at 
Elkton we cross the Great and Little Elk Creeks, with the 
town set between them. These streams have an interest for 
Philadelphia, for on them the Ledger printing-paper is made 



128 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

at the Marley Mill, while near by the paper is also made for 
the Philadelphia Record. These creeks, uniting just south of 
the town, form the Elk River, a broad estuary flowing into the 
Chesapeake. The town of Elkton is spread over a good deal 
of flat land, and contains the Cecil County Fair Grounds ; 
but below it the houses become few and small, while most of 
the ground is wooded and uncultivated. Occasionally there 
is a hill through which the railway-cuttings have to be dug 
with very gradual slopes, for the land is like a quicksand, 
and the rains wash it into great gullies, with the red and 
yellow soils streaked in the deep fissures. We cross the little 
tributary of the Chesapeake, known as Northeast, with its 
rocky waterfall, its iron-mills, and station, and then take a 
course down the west side of the estuary into which it flows. 
This is the northeastern head of Chesapeake Bay, and hence 
its name. Quite a large town has gathered on its borders, 
and it quickly widens into a broad tidal river a few miles 
below, while a score of low hills are over on the other side 
of the water. We now approach the Susquehanna, and can 
see its high bordering range of hills off to the westward. 
After an occasional view across Chesapeake Bay, for the 
course of the railway is around its head-waters, and we can 
see for miles down some of them, over the bay itself, the cars 
run out to the edge of the Susquehanna Biver at Perryville, 
sixty miles from Philadelphia. 

We stop a moment at Perryville, where the railway from 
Port Deposit joins the main line, and then, starting again, 
run slowly across the great bridge built of twelve spans, rest- 
ing on solid granite piers, and nearly three thousand three 
hundred feet long. This was probably the costliest and most 
difficult to build of all the railroad bridges on the Atlantic 
Coast, but it was a necessity for quick transit between Wash- 
ington and the North. For a long period the transit was by 
ferry over the Susquehanna, and the big steamboat was 
availed of as a restaurant, the passengers taking meals there. 
Occasionally, in winter-time, rails were laid across the ice. 
Then, by improvement, they laid rails on the boat, and trans- 
ported the trains over, and the steamer " Maryland," which 
was the transfer-boat, is still used in New York harbor. The 
bridge, after long and tedious building, was finished about 
fourteen yeiirs ago. As we go slowly over we can see the 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 129 

broad river for a long distance above winding around from 
Port Deposit, its steep shores lined with thick woods, and an 
island in the centre, while below the bridge the river soon 
broadens into Cliesapeake Bay. Another halt is made on 
the southern bank at Havre de Grace, where the Susquehanna 
Canal terminates. Down the river the hazy " Eastern Shore" 
can be seen across the bay, and quite a fleet of small vessels 
is anchored at the lower end of the town. Big coal-piles are 
on the wharf near the bridge, landed there by canal-barges, 
and the town has a broad and attractive street running south 
from the station, lined with trees, and having grass growing 
everywhere, excepting on the wagon-track in the centre. The 
town is built chiefly of frame houses. As the train starts 
again we look back through the tall and narrow red-painted 
single-track bridge, with its square box-like iron-framed truss, 
on the lower chord of which the rails are laid, a little speck 
of light gleaming at the farther end, and contrast its safety 
and speed with the delays and risks of early ferriage across 
the great river. 

THE LONG TRESTLE-BRIDGES. 

The railway now continues its course through a level region, 
crossing the tributaries and estuaries of Chesapeake Bay. This 
is the country where the sportsman loves to go, for the wild 
fowl are there in the season, and fishermen can find something 
to reward their patience. We are in Harford County, and 
pass Oakington and Aberdeen, and several other small places 
on the way to Bush Eiver. A good deal of the land here- 
abouts is cultivated, but this is not famous as an agricultural 
region, though new land is every year reclaimed from the 
f .rest and put under plough. Much large timber abounds, 
but houses are scarce. The railway approaches Bush River 
over a flat and occasionally wooded prairie, looking much like 
a section cut out of a Western State, for sometimes you can 
look so far and see so few buildings. The Bush River has 
low, wooded shores, and we cross it on a pile-bridge, not 
elevated much above the water, the telegraph-poles being 
stuck up in the mud at the bottom of the shallow river, 
a short distance south of the bridge. Piles are driven around 
them to keep the ice from cutting them ofi" in the winter- 
time. The railroad still runs through woods and over level 



130 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

land past Edgewood and Magnolia to the widest of these es- 
tuaries, the Gruupowder River. At Edgewood an ancient and 
mud-spattered stage picks up a few passengers from the train 
to carry northward towards the county-seat, at Belair. Mag- 
nolia is a little village at the edge of the woods, where the 
inhabitants make an attractive exhibition of most luxuriant 
rose-bushes by the roadside. We cross the broad Gunpowder 
lliver also on a low pile-bridge. Its sources are the Great 
and Little Gunpowder Rivers, which come down through 
high ground, miles above here, and furnish valuable water- 
powers that are availed of for manufacturing purposes. They 
unite, and the stream becomes wider than the Delaware, while 
south of the railroad bridge it broadens into a great bay, en- 
tering the Chesapeake about eight miles below. These Mary- 
land rivers are not very long, but they make up all their 
shortcomings in their width. The banks of the Gunpowder, 
like the others, are low and covered with trees, while the 
stream has no current, excepting that which the tide provides. 
On its south bank is Howard Park, a Baltimore picnic-ground. 
Again the railroad crosses a level wooded region, with scarcely 
a house to be seen excepting the railway stations. We are 
going through the pines that are around the head-waters of 
the Middle River. Patches of land are occasionally culti- 
vated, the stumps remaining in some of the fields, showing 
them to be recent clearings. Gradually we come upon a sec- 
tion with a few more houses and more cultivation, where they 
bring cord-wood and railway-sleepers out to the station at 
Stemmer's Run, though the population is still sparse. We 
cross Back River, a comparatively narrow stream, on another 
low pile- bridge, and approach Baltimore, passing an occasional 
market-garden, though the forests are still plentiful. Behind 
the hill at Bay View, four miles from Baltimore, the train 
halts at the Junction, where the Pennsylvania Railroad is 
building a large round-house and making extensive improve- 
ments. Here the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad starts 
westward to go through the northern part of Baltimore and 
enter the great tunnels bored under the hills and the city on 
the road to Washington. 

On top of the hill at Bay View, oiF to the left of the road- 
way, is the huge red-brick Bay View Asylum, surmounted 
by a white dome with a red roof. The inmates have a fine 



BALTIMORE. 131 

view of Chesapeake Bay, and that dome is a beacon for the 
mariner's guidance far down its waters. Soon the train is 
running through the suburbs of Baltimore, the passengers 
having a chance to see the river beyond the not very inviting- 
region around Canton. We run along the edge of the water 
past the packing- and canning-factories, and the numerous 
fleets of oyster-boats, for here they bring the Chesapeake 
oysters to be packed and sent to all parts of the world, an 
industry employing thousands of people. Here start the big 
steamboats that ply upon Chesapeake Bay, while over on the 
other side are the great grain-elevators built by the Pennsyl- 
vania and Baltimore and Ohio Railroads to provide foreign 
cargoes. Fleets of vessels are in the harbor, for Baltimore 
enjoys a good trade, sometimes having a heavier European 
business than Philadelphia. The Patapsco and its branches 
furnish an excellent roadstead, capable, they say, of accommo- 
dating two thousand vessels. Immense ships lie at some of 
the docks, which run far up into the town, giving extensive 
wharfage, and the train lands its passengers at President 
Street Station, not far from the busiest shipping district. 



XYII. 

BALTIMORE. 

THE MONUMENTAL CITY. 

The Philadelphia visitor to Baltimore is impressed with 
its resemblance to his own city in the character of the build- 
ings and streets, though the latter are generally wider and 
the surface of the ground is more hilly, Baltimore has a fine 
harbor, formed by the branches of the Patapsco, their irreg- 
ular shores giving an extended opportunity for constructing 
wharves and docks, so that in a comparatively small space 
the merchants are able to get a large amount of wharf-room. 
The two great railways have also made decided improvements 
in recent years for through shipments to Europe, the Penn- 
sylvania system having its elevators at Canton, on the north 



132 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

side of the harbor, while the Baltimore and Ohio system is 
extended out on the long and narrow lowlands at Locust 
Point, almost down to where the two branches of the Patapsco 
join. The " Basin," and also long narrow docks, extend fiir 
up into the city, and across the head of them is Pratt Street, 
where the troops were marching from one railway station to 
the other in the early part of the Ptebellion, on their way to 
Washington, when the mob about the heads of the docks 
attacked them. There were eleven killed and twenty -six 
wounded in this riot, which led to the adoption of energetic 
measures to maintain the authority of the Union in Baltimore. 
Northward some distance from Pratt Street, is Baltimore 
Street, which has a double line of passenger- railway tracks, 
is bordered by very fine stores and other buildings, and may 
be called the chief street of the city. A broad creek divides 
the town almost in two sections, coming down through a deep 
valley from the northward, and in the lower part of the city 
being walled in with an avenue on each side. Long before 
any one expected a city, or even a village to be located there, 
the first settler in that part of the country, — Colonel David 
Jones, — who was the original white inhabitant of the north 
side of Baltimore harbor, two hundred years ago gave this 
stream the name of Jones' Palls. Settlements soon began to 
the eastward of the creek, and it was known as Jonestown, 
while Baltimore was not begun until 1730, when it was laid 
out some distance westward of the creek, and around the 
head of the " Basin," the plan covering sixty acres. This 
was Newtown, as the other (Jonestown) was known as " Old- 
town," but they subsequently became united, and sunk their 
distinctive names in Baltimore. Jones' Falls is not a very 
savory stream, and, to this day, it is noted for its sudden 
freshets, while, in fact, the whole of lower Baltimore seems 
to be in constant preparation for floods, as the rain-storms 
make water-courses of some of the hilly streets, and the 
authorities in several localities have provided the footways 
with permanent stepping-stones. 

The name of the " Monumental City" was given Balti- 
more because it was iho^ earliest American city to have fine 
monuments. The shaft erected by the State of Maryland 
on Charles Street, in memory of George Washington, is one 
of the finest monumental columns in the world. It rises 



BALTIMORE. 133 

one hundred and ninety-five feet, being surmounted with 
Washington's statue, and stands in a broadened street at 
the summit of a hill, an inclined and terraced walk leading 
up to it, with a fountain in front, and the space behind, as 
well as in front, being availed of for flower-gardens and 
hiwns. Fine buildings border the street in this neighbor- 
hood, and make a scene essentially Parisian. Near by is the 
Mount Vernon Methodist Church, an ornamental building 
of greenstone, with brownstone trimmings, and also the Pea- 
body Institute, a large structure of white marble. On Cal- 
vert Street, in Monument Square, is the Battle Monument, 
a more modest, yet very fine white marble column on an 
elaborate base, bearing the names of the citizens who were 
slain in defending Baltimore in 1814. Thomas Wildey, the 
founder of Odd-Fellowship, has a commemorative shaft on 
Broadway. There are many fine buildings in Baltimore, and 
probably the greatest is the New City Hall, which is a magnifi- 
cent structure of Maryland marble, with a high dome rising- 
two hundred and twenty-two feet. This building, occupying 
an entire square, although constructed by the city authori- 
ties, is unique in having been finished at less cost than the 
estimates. It has a magnificent front portico and staircase. 
The Baltimore Cathedral is also an elaborate granite build- 
ing, with the Maryland University and xlcademy of Sciences 
near by, the latter a modest little house. 

DRUID HILL PARK. 

Let us take a survey of the beautiful Baltimore suburbs, 
and to do so go out Eutaw Street to Eutaw Place, and in 
making the journey discover that this city has some of the 
same sort of rough cobble- stone street paving to which we 
are accustomed in Philadelphia, although in the business 
portions Belgian blocks are being substituted. The street 
gradually ascends the hills towards the west and northwest, 
and broadens into Eutaw Place, where there are gardens in 
the centre, ornamented with flowers and tiled walks, while 
rows of stately brick dwellings border the sides of the street. 
Mansard-roofs abound, and the Place goes up and down hill, 
helping the drainage and also improving the view. One of 
the great fountains exhibited at the Centennial Exhibition 
is placed in a conspicuous position here, and much taste is 

12 



134 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

shown in the ornamentation of the grounds. Having risen 
to the top of tlie hill at the northwestern end of Eutaw 
Place, the scene back over the gardens and fountain is very 
fine, closing with a pretty church, having a tall spire, block- 
ing the view at the lower entrance to the broadened street. 
Eutaw Place exhausts itself in a suburban road, having a 
smooth gravelled surface, and going past some fine rural 
houses, with ornamental grounds, and still rising up-hill to- 
wards the Park, to which it is being extended, to make an 
additional entrance. Here is the beautiful home of Gr. W. 
Gail, who has expended some of the profits drawn out of 
tobacco-smoke to adorning Baltimore. Madison Avenue is a 
wide street, running parallel to Eutaw on its left hand, and 
leading to the main entrance to Druid Hill Park. The horse- 
car lines run out here, and terminate in a very fine passenger- 
railway station, adjoining the Park gate. This station is a 
handsome brick building, having those peculiar protuberances 
found in many European churches, which represent the evil 
spirits fleeing out. Just what connection these hobgoblins 
have with a horse railroad, especially when it pays one cent 
out of every fare taken, to the fund supporting the Park, is 
not known. 

Druid Hill, covering six hundred acres, is one of the fiimous 
parks of the country, and was the estate of Lloyd Rogers, 
whose mansion and old family burial-ground are still within 
its borders, the latter almost masked by trees. It has an un- 
dulating surface of woodland and meadow, and was acquired 
by Baltimore about 1860. Let us enter through a stately 
gateway, upon a road lined on either hand by long rows of 
flower-vases standing on high pedestals, and running along- 
side Druid Lake, the great Baltimore water reservoir ; while 
on the other side is a grove of trees with a broad sloping 
lawn on which there are plenty of benches for the visitors, 
while cows and sheep wander over the grass. The backward 
view, through the rows of flower-vases, from the point where 
the entering road divides, about a hundred yards within the 
gateway, is charming. Immediately we get into the thick 
foliage of a wood, and are apparently far away from the city. 
The J?ark is not overwrought by art, but is mainly a produc- 
tion of nature, and in this is constantly remindful of Fair- 
mount Park. The old trees are there in multitudes, while 



BALTIMORE. 135 

road-making and arass-cutting, and the removal of under- 
growth are the chief hibors of the Park care-takers. There 
are broad stretches of hiwn and plenty of rolling ground, the 
scene at times being essentially English, with smooth-cut grass 
and sturdy oaks on the hill-sides. The numerous little lakes 
add to the beauty ; ducks swim on some of them, and there 
are canopied boats on others, while almost everywhere that 
there is shade and a fine view there is also an ample stock of 
benches. The Park is liberally supplied with plashing foun- 
tains and drinking fountains, the gifts of generous citizens, 
and the flowering trees and shrubbery emit an almost constant 
perfume. Not far from the Mansion House, which occupies 
a commanding position in the centre of the Park, another 
little knoll is surmounted by the broad low building which 
Maryland contributed to the Centennial Exhibition, and the 
event is commemorated by calling the knoll Centennial Hill. 
Fronting the Mansion House is a wide concourse over which 
the visitor has a view from the spacious piazzas down beyond 
the sloping lawns and a magnificent fountain, to a distant wood 
of oaks, through which there is a narrow vista view across 
Druid Lake towards the Park entrance a half-mile away. 
This is one of the most beautiful park effects ever created, 
and yet it has cost comparatively nothing to produce, nature 
having been the chief architect. Behind the Mansion House, 
down in a dell, is a little pavilion, with surrounding cages, 
where they are gathering the nucleus of a Zoological Garden. 
Out on the summit of Druid Hill, towards the north side of 
the Park is Prospect Hill, a high elevation overlooking the 
northern suburb of Woodberry, down in the valley formed 
by Jones' Falls, with sloping wooded hills beyond, and in the 
distance a number of ornamental country-houses. In the 
bottom of this valley, and keeping close to the banks of tlie 
creek, runs the Northern Central Railroad, taking advantage 
of the fissure it makes between the hills for an easy route 
out of town northward towards Harrisburg. Prospect Hill 
has a dark gTcen background of trees and park, while all 
around the northern, eastern, and western horizon the view is 
grand. Away off" to the eastward, fully ten miles away, can 
be seen the Bay View Asylum, on the hill-top, its red-roofed 
white cupola glistening in the sunlight. The combination of 
hill and vale makes Druid Hill one of the finest parks in the 



136 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

world, and the roads and paths are led in all directions to 
exhibit their beauties to the utmost. It has also had the 
great advantage of being a well-kept estate before it was a 
public park. While some of the roads are broad and im- 
posing, others are narrow and almost like little country lanes 
and by-paths through the woods. There has been established 
in the Park a fish-hatching house, and from it a little stream 
runs down under a handsome stone bridge, through a minia- 
ture valley and a succession of little lakes, with a road wind- 
ing along their shores. Here they hatch and rear the trout, 
and also keep gold-fish, the lakes being in most picturesque 
situations. To this beautiful pleasure-ground, of which no 
mere written description can give an adequate idea, the many 
thousands come out of Baltimore on fine afternoons to enjoy 
themselves, each visitor paying his cent, collected through the 
medium of the horse-car companies, to the fund for keeping 
it up. 

THE DRUID HILL RESERVOIRS. 

As in most American cities, the high ground of Druid 
Park is availed of by Baltimore for the water-reservoirs. 
The water-supply comes from Lake Boland, several miles 
north of the city, to the great reservoir at Druid Lake, and 
the smaller and lower reservoir, not far distant, known as 
Mount Royal. Baised above the level of Druid Lake, on 
top of the highest hill in the Park, they have constructed a 
new High Service Beservoir to supply the elevated ground 
in the newer part of the city. The pumping-house and en- 
gines that raise the water to this reservoir are models of 
beautiful construction and cleanliness, an ornamental stone 
tower rising above them, while Druid Lake, over a mile 
around, has its bank made into a driveway, and in the centre 
is a grand spray -fountain, throwing the water many feet high, 
and, when the sun shines in the late afternoon, creating a 
beautiful rainbow. Like all our cities, however, rapid growth 
has here exhausted the earlier means for water-supply. Bal- 
timore is now carrying almost to completion an elaborate 
scheme for bringing the Little Grunpowder Biver into the 
city for a larger supply. This stream of pure water is tapped 
about fifteen miles north of the city, and is to be brought 
through seven miles of almost continuous tunnel to a. new 



BALTIMORE. 137 

reservoir called Lake Montebello, a short distance from Lake 
Roland, the present source of the water-mains, and it will 
be connected with the existing system, giving an ample flow 
for many years to come. The new works are almost com- 
pleted. [They were opened in October, 1881.] 

Druid Hill Terrace, on the southern side of the lake, 
where a lookout tower is built, gives another fine view over 
the city and northern suburbs. You can see beyond the 
lower reservoir on Mount Royal, for five miles across the city 
to the elevators on the other side of the harbor at Locust 
Point, with the Patapsco River beyond, and off to the left 
the Bay View Asylum stands up boldly against the horizon. 
Across to the eastward are the spacious new buildings of the 
Johns Hopkins Hospital, in an enclosure covering at least 
two hundred acres, to erect and support which his great es- 
tate is being devoted. Down in the valley at our feet is the 
Northern Central Railway, and its shops and depots cover a 
good deal of ground, while all along between us and the city, 
skirting under the side of Mount Royal, runs the succession 
of tunnels of the Baltimore and Potomac Railroad. We 
will leave this pretty place by a new road leading down 
around the foot of the hill and under the edge of the reser- 
voirs to the bottom of the valley, crossing the railway and 
Jones' Falls just at the entrance to one of the great railway 
tunnels. This road is a tastefully-constructed Park entrance, 
and alongside it at the base of Mount Royal a high fountain- 
stream is thrown up, the wind carrying its spray afar. The 
whole of the adjacent region is being built up with new and 
tasteful houses. We pass the stately building of the Blind 
Asylum, with its low mansard-roofs and prominent chimneys, 
on Boundary Avenue, and, ascending the hill on the other 
side, visit one of Baltimore's many burial-grounds, — Green 
Mount Cemetery. It is not a very large place, but is a 
pretty ground, with gentle hills and valleys, and is well popu- 
lated. The entrance is quite ornamental. Here is buried, 
in a spot selected by herself, the venerable Madame Patterson 
Bonaparte, whose history is one of Baltimore's romances. 
Here also lies Junius Brutus Booth and his family, including 
John Wilkes Booth, a granite monument on a brownstone 
base surmounting the latter's grave. We return to town 
through St. Paul and Charles Streets, lined with fine resi- 

12* 



138 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

denccs, one of the most higlily-ornamented sections of tins 
substantial city. 

A BALTIMORE NIGHT MARKET. 

It would not be right to leave Baltimore without visiting 
a Saturday night market. The Baltimoreans have not yet, 
like Philadelphia, gone much into the business of building 
market- houses as a matter of private enterprise, but they 
still encourage the street markets and make them as good as 
possible. Tuesday and Friday mornings and Saturday even- 
ings are the market periods, and no visit is complete with- 
out spending an hour in one of these night markets, which 
the people crowd to repletion. Let us go to the largest of 
them, the Lexington Market, which begins about three 
o'clock Saturday afternoon, and continues until midnight. 
Visit it after dark, and you find three long squares on a broad 
street blazing with light, filled with people and with stalls 
groaning under the greatest profusion of food. The number 
of sellers who come to the market is so great that the com- 
petition is brisk. This not only keeps the supplies up to the 
best standard, but it cheapens prices and thus draws the 
crowd. Throughout Saturday evening the street is a most 
animated bazaar, brilliantly lighted, for all the stores, as well 
as every stall, are lighted to the best ability of gas, gasoline, 
and coal oil, while many indulge in extra illuminations. 
Three broad avenues are lined with stalls in the market- 
houses, while outside, the country wagons back up on either 
hand, and thus, together, make no less than ten long parallel 
rows of stalls and stands, on which are displayed an endless 
profusion of everything a market can sell, — meats, vegetables, 
poultry, alive as well as killed and prepared for roasting, 
fruits and flowers, china and glass-ware, fish, oysters, and 
pickles, and every other article that can be bought in a mar- 
ket. There was as much in Lexington Market to sell on the 
Saturday night I saw it as would be displayed in three or 
four big Philadelphia market-houses put together, and the 
great competition made prices very cheap. Thousands of 
people were there buying and carrying off their basket-loads, 
and a thousand or more bright lights danced in the wind. 
Prices are much cheaper than in most Philadelphia markets, 
for the system of competition encourages small profits, and 



BALTIMORE. 139 

an immense surface south of Baltimore in Anne Arundel 
County supplies the city. The scene, the cheapness of every- 
thing, and the spirit of the place infected us like all the rest 
who were there. Unable to resist the temptation, although 
a hundred miles from home, we bought a big basket and in- 
vested in some of the marketing too. This night market is one 
of the sights of the city. 

THE OLD FORT. 

Down in the harbor, on the extreme end of Locust Point, 
beyond the great Baltimore and Ohio elevators, and about 
two and one-half miles from the City Hall, is a low-lying 
esplanade with green banks sloping almost to the water. 
Behind it are the parapets and walls of a fort with a flag 
flying from a staff in the centre. This is Fort McHenry, 
quiet, unassuming, and of little account now, tenanted by 
barely a score of soldiers, but having a great history. It 
w^as the position of this fort, and the guns it mounted on its 
parapets, that held Baltimore in the early history of the Re- 
bellion, and maintained the road from the North to Washing- 
ton. But its greatest memory, and, by the association, prob- 
ably the greatest fame that Baltimore enjoys, come from the 
flag on the staff that now so peacefully waves over the low 
ground on Locust Point from sunrise to sunset. AVhen the 
British menaced Baltimore in 1814, they bombarded Fort 
McHenry, and the flag waved from the staff all through the 
night, an interested spectator being Francis Scott Key, a Bal- 
timorean, inprisoned on one of the vessels of the British fleet 
in the harbor. The flag withstood the bombardment, and, 
inspired by the scene, Key composed the patriotic anthem of 
" The Star-Spangled Banner," which has carried the fame of 
Baltimore and its fort, flag, and history throughout the 
world. 



140 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

XVIII. 

THE BEADING EAILKOAD. 

THE BOUND BROOK ROUTE. 

Let us to-day take an early morning start to New York over 
the new line by the Reading and New Jersey Central Railroads, 
known as the Bound Brook route. Its cars run up Ninth 
Street, and we can board the train at Columbia Avenue Sta- 
tion. Here in the early morning can be got an idea of the 
enormous passenger traffic Ninth Street carries. While wait- 
ing for the train, the cars are moving in almost continuous pro- 
cession, laden with passengers coming into the city. I counted 
ten trains passing in as many minutes, crowds getting on and 
off as they halted a moment at the station, above which the 
gate swung quickly open and shut at Columbia Avenue to 
let the horse-cars pass. Finally, along comes an odd-looking 
engine, which seems to be chiefly a ponderous boiler, with 
the engineer perched up in a cab on the top at the centre. 
This machine is not very pretty to look at, but it is great as 
a steam-manufacturer, and it draws our train over the Bound 
Brook route. 

The cars rush along through the northern suburbs, out past 
the gas-tanks and over Broad Street, raising a great dust ; 
along by the Junction and on the Germantown Road, past 
the Midvale Steel- Works, halting a moment at Wayne Junc- 
tion, then starting up over the turnpike and a long trestle 
across the country to the North Pennsylvania Railroad. We 
are in a beautiful region ; now darting through rock-cuttings, 
then out upon rolling ground with fine villas, going by pretty 
little stations ; and at Jenkintown, about ten miles out, we 
curve around to the right and pass upon the new line. It is 
a double-track all the way, a solid construction, over which 
the cars run smoothly and rapidly. The train rushes across 
country towards the Delaware River, above Trenton. In 
rapid succession there pass in review fine farms, attractive 
villas, pretty lots of woodland on the hill-sides, sloping lawns, 



THE READING RAILROAD. 141 

the delicious green of the grass and trees being varied by tlie 
brown color of the cultiva'ted fields. Cattle graze, and the 
farmers are out at work. AVe rattle over the Newtown Rail- 
road, pass Bethayres and Somerton, and count the tall signal- 
towers set high above the line at intervals to control the 
movement of 'the trains. Twenty miles out the raihyay 
crosses the Neshaminy, the falls just above the bridge looking 
very pretty as they are set into a picture that has a sloping 
grove on either bank, to which picnic-parties like to come. 
Here on the one side is the Neshaminy Falls Grove, and on 
the other Rocky Grlen Grove, the trees fringing the borders 
of the little lake above the falls that divides them. 

Frequent trains of coal- and freight-cars pass, as we speed 
along, showing that the new line has a good traffic, and on 
them are the" names of many railways of the far West and 
North that would be almost unknown here if their cars did 
not come to town on the Reading lines. The train passes 
Langhorne and comes upon a comparatively flat country as it 
approaches the valley of the Delaware. It is superbly culti- 
vated, and the cheerful farm-buildings are in all directions, as 
f\ir as the eye can see. We have also reached the region of 
dark red soils, and at Yardley, thirty miles from town, the 
road crosses the Delaware by a long bridge and trestle. Here 
is one of those quiet rural views of forest, field, and water 
in which the neighborhood of Philadelphia abounds. The 
river is bordered on either bank by a canal, and long views 
can be had over the Delaware Valley, both above and below 
the railway bridge. To the northward another pretty bridge 
spans the river ; to the southward a little island is set in the 
centre of the scene. We are now in Jersey, and after a 
brief halt at Trenton Junction, where the train-hands rush 
out to " tap the rim," we speed across the State, a half-hour's 
swift riding bringing the train to Bound Brook, where it 
passes upon the New Jersey Central tracks. To the north- 
ward the southern spurs of the Blue Ridge hills come grad- 
ually in sight, at first dim and hazy blue as we take a long 
view of them over the lower intervening ground, but after- 
wards approaching nearer, so that the route skirts along the 
level land stretching out at their feet. The train runs over 
the dark red soil, and the high hills are covered with woods 
to their tops. Occasionally they go far away from us, but 



142 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

they reappear again-, and farm-houses can be seen among the 
trees, some peeping out at the summits of the hills. At fifty- 
nine miles from Philadelphia the road runs into the New 
Jersey Central tracks at the busy village of Bound Brook, 
and changes engines, while the men again " tap the rim." 
There are pleasant houses in all directions, set among the 
trees, while south of the railway Bound Brook curves around 
a pretty stream with the village beyond. 

The railway now leads us through a region that seems 
almost one continuous town, and the Lehigh Valley Railroad 
is alongside to keep us company. We pass Dunellin, and 
still skirt along the foot of the dark green hills, crossing 
roads lined with rows of cottages, and pass through Plain- 
field with whistle blowing and the townsfolk out in force as 
the cars run by the station. Then by the attractive station 
at Netherwood and past so many village stations that their 
names cannot be remembered, for the entire country seems 
dotted with cottages, and an occasional church spire stands 
up among the trees. We gradually leave the mountain range 
behind, as the dark green hills fade away in hazy blue. We 
continue for some distance alongside the Lehigh Valley Bail-* 
road, and the passengers get a little excitement as a train on 
that road races with ours, but it finally parts company, and 
leaves for Amboy to the eastward. \Ve slow down as the 
engine runs through the town of Elizabeth, and crosses the 
Pennsylvania Bailroad tracks in the centre of that city. 
Elizabeth by rapid stages dissolves into Elizabethport, and 
then as the railway goes out upon the meadows, leaving the 
town on the southern side, we pass to our right the enormous 
works of the Singer Sewing-Machine Company, with the 
little park in front of the office. A long trestle carries the 
train over the broad expanse of Newark Bay, where fisher- 
men are out in little boats, some of them dredging for oysters. 
Across the bay is the town of Bergen Point, and a succession 
of villages, the country being almost entirely built up, while 
south of it is the Kill Von Kull, with Staten Island and its 
fine residences rising gracefully beyond. The villages gradu- 
ally condense into a continuous town as we ride into Com- 
munipaw, at the lower edge of Jersey City, and with New 
York harbor on one side, pass through a maze of railways, 
docks, cars, and vessels, and end the railroad journey in the 



THE READING RAILROAD. 143 

station on the Hudson River, eiglitj-nine miles from Phila- 
delphia. The crowd passes from the train to the ferry-boat, 
-which is big enough to make two of those on the Delaware, 
and the boat tlireads its way across the Hudson lliver, among 
the myriads of passing vessels of all descriptions. In front 
stretches the broad expanse of docks, sheds, and vessels, with 
buildings behind them that are the new-comer's first view of 
New York. The tall houses and spires along Broadway tower 
above the mass of the houses, while off to the right hand, 
down at the point of Manhattan Island, is the round build- 
ing where the emigrants land at Castle Garden, with the 
trees of Battery Park alongside. The ferry-boat lands, and 
we are in New York. 

A FAMOUS CHURCH. 

Arriving with the crowd of business men who every morn- 
ing rush -into New York over the ferries from Jersey City, 
the staid Philadelphian is sometimes a little unnerved at the 
plunge that has to be made into the struggling mass of 
wagons, cars, people, horses, policemen, and mud, that is 
usually tied up into an apparently inextricable knot on West 
Street. But the plunge is taken, and getting through, the 
visitor naturally makes his way to Broadway. The elevated 
railway cars rattle overhead as we pass under them and look 
up a moment at these ponderous structures roofing over the 
streets and closing up the windows of the houses. The roar 
of Broadway, is ahead of us, and soon we drop into its busy 
current. Let us walk down a little way to one of the famous 
churches of America. Trinity Church, which is known to 
men with almost the fame of Westminster Abbey or Notre 
Dame, stands at the head of Wall Street, with its old grave- 
yard stretching along Broadway. It is a constant monitor 
for the bankers and brokers down that famous street, who 
can see its spire and clock from their doors, but, although it 
is their guardian angel and its gates are open all day, few of 
the bulls and bears venture in. Behind the graveyard, the 
Elevated trains rush by every few minutes. It was in 1696 
that the first Trinity Church was built on this spot. This 
was burned in 1776, and the second church was built in 
1788, being taken down in 1839 to make room for the pres- 
ent fine building, which is the third Trinity Church erected 



144 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

there, and after six years building was finished and conse- 
crated in 1846. Let us go into the dark brown church, with 
its tall spire and the lower pinnacles around. It is a Gothic 
church, with a high nave and cloistered ceilings nearly two 
hundred feet long, while the spire is two hundred and eighty- 
four feet high. Pews fill the floor, and the aisles all have 
little benches, while a grand stained window lets in a flood 
of mellow light at the western end, and the Astor reredos is 
beneath, a magnificent work of art. The pulpit stands at 
the right hand, with a sounding-board, spreading out like a 
shell, above it. Old Trinity gives every evidence of being 
the church of a wealthy congregation, and the vestry do not 
have to worry much about where to get funds, as the invest- 
ments of the Trinity Church corporation now yield a half- 
million dollars annual income. 

Let us mount the steeple and see the view. The visitor is 
permitted to climb up three hundred and eight steps to a 
lookout-place about two hundred feet above the street. We 
are far above most of the buildings to the southward, and 
have here a grand lookout over lower Broadway, Bowling 
Green and its fountain, the Battery, and the harbor. The 
Battery is a half-mile away, and the thick foliage of the trees 
almost obscures the huge round Castle Garden emigrant depot. 
Out in the harbor there are countless vessels, many moving, 
but more at anchor, and the cool air comes blowing in from 
the ocean. Here, in the foreground, is Governor's Island 
and Fort Columbus, with the circular structure known as 
Castle William, on its southwestern end. This was once a 
great fort, but is now antiquated, and Fort Columbus, on the 
island, with the other works at the Narrows, supersedes it. 
Away off", over the harbor, are the hills of Staten Island, and 
the road to the sea through the Narrows is seen, far away 
beyond Governor's Island. The roar of Broadway with its 
mass of moving humanity and vehicles comes up from be- 
neath our feet, and turning northward that great street can 
be seen stretching far away with its rows of stately buildings 
hemming in the bustling throng that goes along. Let us 
descend again to the old church-yard, which still remains in 
its ancient glory, a mass of worn and battered gravestones 
resting in a quiet refuge under the trees in the heart of the 
busiest part of New York. This tree- embowered spot has 



THE READING RAILROAD. 145 

been a burial place for nearly two hundred years, and it con- 
tains, near the front railing at the northern end, the Martyrs' 
Monument, erected over the bones of the patriots who died 
in the prison-ships of the Kevolution. This is a fine piece 
of sculpture, but as. a general thing the neighboring grave- 
stones have little in themselves that is commendable. The 
stones marking Richard Churcher and Anny Churcher, who 
died in 1G81 and 1691, are the oldest in the yard. Charlotte 
Temple's grave is under a flat stone, which has a cavity, out of 
which the inscription was twice stolen. This cavity remains, 
and was full of water from the recent rains when we saw it. 
Poor Charlotte's romantic career and miserable end, with the 
duel that resulted, have been woven into a novel. Not flir 
away is the grave of the first William Bradford, who was one 
of William Penn's companions in founding Philadelphia, and 
for fifty years was the Government printer, anterior to the 
Kevolution. The original stone over his grave has been pre- 
served by the New York Historical Society, but a restored 
stone marks it. A mausoleum of brownstone covers the 
remains of Captain Lawrence, of the " Chesapeake," who 
was killed when his ship was surrendered after the sharp 
combat with the British frigate " Shannon," in 1813. Some 
old cannon captured from the British surround this grave. 
A marble monument marks the tomb of Alexander Hamil- 
ton ; and Robert Fulton, Albert Gallatin, and many others 
famous in their day are buried here. Probably the latest 
grave is that of General Philip Kearney, killed in 18G2. 
This venerable place, which it has in former times been sought 
to make a sort of Westminster Abbey, as the final home of 
the great men of New York, is worth all the journey over to 
that city to see. It has its " Old Mortality," too, for an aged 
man walks about and describes the graves, and tells the his- 
tory of the dead and of the labor of love by the living to 
keep their gravestones in repair. All the while the noisy 
railway-trains rushing along behind the yard, and the roaring 
Broadway trafiic in front, are a reminder of the great city 
that has this quiet spot so strangely left in its very heart to 
tell the story of its earlier days. 

Q k 13 



146 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

* XIX. 

NEW yoek: city. 

BROADWAY AND FIFTH AVENUE. 

Let us go down to tlie Battery at the lower end of Man- 
hattan Island, about a half-mile from Trinity Church, and sit 
on one of the benches overlooking the harbor, and enjoy the 
fresh breeze from old ocean. The Battery Park is a garden- 
spot with flagstone walks, fine trees, and lawns, and a most 
attractive appearance. The elevated railways come down 
here, as they do everywhere else in New York, and take up 
much of the room, but you can walk about under them, and 
for their convenience forget the desecration. Over on the 
left hand is the South Ferry, where boats go to Brooklyn and 
Staten Island, and the Barge office, where the Custom-House 
officials congregate. Out over the water is General Hancock's 
home on Grovernor's Island, which was last summer such a 
Mecca for political pilgrims, but is so no longer. A thousand 
water-craft of all sorts and descriptions, and bearing the flags 
of all nations, cover the bay between you and Staten Island, 
the Jersey shore, and the Narrows. Some are at anchor, 
others move about, and ambitious little tugs drag great big 
ships after them, while not so fiir away a solitary war-vessel 
is moored, to remind the foreigner that the United States has 
a navy. To the right hand is Castle Garden, where the immi- 
grants are landed, and its occupants overflow into the Battery 
Park and all the neighboring streets. This establishment, 
which fills the useful mission of receiving and caring for the 
stranger from abroad, so that harpies may not prey upon him, 
has been doing an enormous business this season. It has 
accommodated twenty-five thousand in a single week, and 
sometimes over five thousand in a single day, for immigrants 
have been pouring into New York at an unprecedented rate. 
Let us enter and see what is inside this old round fort, for 
such it was in the early days of New York, when it was sur- 
rounded by a ditch, and was known as Castle Clinton. Sub- 



NEW YORK CITY. 147 

sequently, when the Battery became the fiishionable prome- 
nade, and the solid men of the city lived in the adjoining 
streets, it became tlie chief place of amusement, and it was 
here that Jenny Lind made her j&rst appearance in America. 
It has been the emigration depot for twenty-five years, and 
within its spacious rotunda all the immigrants are brought. 
Tugs land them from the vessels and take them away again 
to the railway stations, so that they need not go into New 
York City at all. It is a wonderful sight to see that rotunda 
filled with men, women, and children from all nations, a 
Babel of languages being jabbered as they change their 
money, get their passage -tickets, and ask information. All 
the signs, and there are not a few of them, are repeated in 
the chief languages of Europe, and even the most ignorant 
are protected thoroughly in the usually dangerous period of 
landing from the emigrant-ship. As you look out over the 
crowds, from the little balcony half-way up the wall, you 
marvel at the polyglot country the United States is getting 
to be. 

A RIDE UP BROADWAY. 

The little triangular half-acre, with its fountain, just above 
the Battery, is the Bowling Green, and here begins the 
greatest street of America. The lengthened formation of 
Manhattan Island compels nearly all the traffic of the city for 
at least three miles from the Battery to seek Broadway, so 
that for vehicles and pedestrians it at times exceeds in the 
crush of travel any other street in the world, not even ex- 
cepting London. Who of the visitors to New York does not 
know the peril of crossing Broadway ? Let us take a ride 
up this famous street. We leave the Bowling Green in com- 
parative quiet, but do not go fiir before getting into the 
seething current that fills the right-hand side of the roadway, 
while a similar current flows to our left in the opposite direc- 
tion. We pass Trinity Church and get a glimpse down Wall 
Street, where brokers' clerks run about below, and above the 
human spiders that climb over the roofs of the houses have 
woven a web of telegraph-wires. As the carriage threads its 
way through the maze of wagons, omnibuses, and drays, and 
people dodging across the street at the risk of their lives, the 
occupants look up at the immense and famous buildings, eight 



148 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and ten stories liigli, that stand on either hand. The present 
New York generation blesses the inventor of the elevator, 
and its professional gentlemen are not content unless their 
offices are located at least as high as the seventh floor. At 
every street-crossing there is a jam, with a sturdy policeman, 
armed with club and topped with helmet, trying all day to 
unravel it. The " Dandy Copper of the Broadway squad," 
whom they sing about at the minstrels, earns his money, 
especially when he has to gallant detachments of timorous 
females, of uncertain mind and halting movement, across the 
crowded street. As we approach the City Hall Park the sit- 
uation becomes a terrible jam, for here are currents of vehicles 
and people from several directions, and the New York Herald 
building, at the corner, looks out upon probably the worst 
street-crossing in the world. Off to the right hand stretches 
" Newspaper Row," while opposite is the magnificent Post- 
office building, its Louvre-like domes rising far above the 
restless crowds in the streets. This has been made, by the 
skill and energy of the present Postmaster-General, the model 
post-office. Behind it, farther up the Park, is ih^ City Hall, 
and adjoining that the famous New York Court-House, which 
cost so much money, and is the monument of the peculations 
of the " Tweed ring." It is a fine Corinthian structure, with 
its dome rising two hundred and ten feet above the pavement. 
Above the Park is the white building, without signs, where 
A. T. Stewart originally made his money, and here Broadway 
becomes somewhat freer of vehicles, though the omnibuses 
are thick and the roar unceasing. In fact, this steady din of 
rolling wheels is one of the chief recollections the visitor has 
of Broadway. Ofi" to the right, down Leonard Street, is the 
Tombs, with its massive Egyptian architecture, standing on 
ground that was formerly part of a large lake. Bunning 
vines are trailed up the walls, while all the caged New York 
murderers live within. 

We cross the broad Canal Street, which was, in old times, 
the water-course leading from the lake at the Tombs, then a 
body of water and marsh two miles around, which drained 
down Canal Street to the Hudson, and come to the region 
of great hotels, some enclosing theatres. Above here, there 
is an occasional frame house or ancient brick building along 
Broadway, to remind of old times, but they are fast coming 



NEW YORK CITF. 149 

down in the steady march of building improvement. At in- 
tervals all along there is building going on, and the crowds 
are treated to frequent doses of ancient plaster and brick- 
dust. We pass Stewart's up-town store, signless like the 
other, and the street bends to the left just where Grace 
Church stands, whose sexton used to be the indispensable 
adjunct of all the fashionable New York weddings and 
funerals. At Fourteenth Street Broadway enters Union 
Square and passes around its fountain and monuments and 
well-kept lawns, there being hosts of loungers on the benches 
in the square. Above here the street resumes its course, 
and the old Goelet Mansion remains as the only residence. 
This fine dwelling of a former day is almost smothered by 
the towering stores around it, and will soon give way to their 
advancing tide. Broadway above here has car-tracks to 
swell the traffic, while for a half-mile the electric lights illu- 
minating it at night are set up on tall posts. Then comes 
Madison Square, with its monuments and lawns, and the 
great arm of the French statue to Liberty holding up a torch, 
which it is proposed to erect in New York harbor if money 
can be got to pay the bill. This was one of the few things 
she saw in the United States which Sarah Bernhardt did not 
like. She said it was too ugly. Here where Madison Ave- 
nue begins and Fifth Avenue crosses Broadway, is a repro- 
duction in the light stone of the huge hotels, and the statues, 
gardens, and park, of a scene essentially Parisian. 

We could go farther along Broadway, but it is not neces- 
sary. The great street, with similar characteristics, stretches 
far up the Island, to the southwest corner of Central Park, 
and loses itself in Eighth Avenue. Fifth Avenue comes up 
from Washington Square, past the little church-yard, across 
which, to the westward, you look at the plain side of the 
modest home of Thurlow Weed, on West Twelfth Street. 
Above, the famous Manhattan Club is seen, in a broad, brown- 
stone house, on the west side ; while at Eighteenth Street, on 
the opposite side, August Belmont, the banker, lives in a fine 
house, with ivy overrunning it, and a spacious picture-gallery 
at the rear. At Twenty-first Street, the large brown-stone 
building is the Union Club, while the Lotus Club exists in 
much more modest style at the opposite corner. Fifth 
Avenue reaches Madison Square at Twenty-third Street. 

13^ 



150 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 



THE HOMES OF THE NABOBS. 

We will turn into Fifth Avenue, and, riding along the 
wide street with its borders of elegant residences, wherein 
the New York millionnaires are supposed to be happy, we can 
imagine ourselves as rich as they, without having so much 
mortgage interest and taxes to pay. The houses are mainly 
brownstone, though many brick and some marble buildings 
are along the street, while the farther north we go to the 
newer parts the finer is the architecture. Let us stop at Nos. 
338 and 350 Fifth Avenue, two spacious brick houses, on 
the west side, with brownstone facings and a large yard 
between, enclosed by a bright-red brick wall. They occupy 
an entire block, and in them live the present representatives 
of the greatest New York family, John Jacob Astor and 
William Astor, a Philadelphia lady being the latter's wife. 
Across Thirty-fourth Street, opposite William Aster's house, 
is the great white marble building where the widow of Al- 
exander T. Stewart lives, childless and alone, in the finest 
of the older houses on Fifth Avenue. Watchmen pace on 
the pavement before the door day and night. To the west, 
on Thirty-fourth Street, is the residence of Judge Hilton, 
her husband's lawyer and successor in business, while on the 
opposite side of Fifth Avenue is the brownstone house which 
Stewart gave his brother-in-law, Deputy-Collector Clinch, 
now deceased. At Thirty-seventh Street and Fifth Avenue 
is the " Brick Church" (Presbyterian), a capacious building 
with a lofty, ancient-looking spire, while across the avenue 
on the opposite corner is the plain, but substantial brick resi- 
dence of Edwin D. Morgan. At No. 425 is the double 
brownstone house where James Gordon Bennett lives when 
in New York. At Thirty-ninth Street is the fine new brick 
and brownstone edifice of the Union League Club, with 
pretty little gardens in front. Let us go a little farther up 
and call at No. 459, the broad brownstone house on the east 
side, with the wide carriage-way alongside. This is the 
present home of the wealthiest New Yorker, — William H. 
Vanderbilt, — though he is building new and finer houses 
farther up the avenue. At Forty second Street, No. 503, is 
the plain and modest residence of the banker and Minister 
to France Levi P. Morton. Ofi" to the eastward on this 



NEW YORK CITY. 151 

street can be seen the Grand Central Depot, which stretches 
along Fourth Avenue and is adorned with the well-known 
Vanderbilt bronzes. At Fort^^-third Street is the Jewish 
Temple Emanuel, the finest specimen of Saracenic archi- 
tecture in America. The interior is lavishly decorated in 
oriental style. The lower parts of the towers are being grad- 
ually overrun by creeping plants. The Universalist church 
at the corner of Forty-fifth Street is a Gothic brownstone 
with ivy-covered towers, and above this the new and tall 
Windsor Hotel occupies an entire block. 

THE MYSTERIOUS WIRE-PULLER. 

Diagonally across from the Windsor Hotel, at \]\q north- 
west corner of Forty-seventh Street, is a small, plain-looking 
three-story brownstone house, with a low mansard-roof. It 
has nothing remarkable about it, yet within dwells the most 
remarkable man of the present time in New York. Several 
sets of telegraph-wires run into the building, and by means 
of these, if we may believe common rumor, Wall Street is 
manipulated, and a large part of the railways, steamship 
and telegraph companies of the country, besides sundry news- 
papers, are controlled. The bulls and bears blame all their 
woes upon the telegraph-wires radiating from that unpreten- 
tious house at the corner of Forty-seventh Street, the home 
of Jay Gould. At the next corner is the Reformed Dutch 
Church, a most beautiful pointed Gothic building of brown- 
stone, with a high spire. Above this, several fine new 
houses are building, and then on the east side of Fiftieth 
Street, and occupying the entire block, we "come to the finest 
church in America, St. Patrick's Cathedral. The towers are 
unfinished, but no one can help admiring this magnificent 
Gothic church, built of white marble, covering three hun- 
dred and thirty-two by one hundred and seventy-four feet, 
while the central gable rises one hundred and fifty-six feet, and 
the two spires flanking it will be three hundred and twenty- 
eight feet high. In the rear is the Cardinal's residence, also 
of white marble, which is still building. Let us go inside 
this great church, and when the glare of the sunlight upon 
the marble has faded from the eyes we can admire its high 
nave, beautiful stained-glass windows, and magnificent altars. 
The softened light unfolds the cloistered arches of the roof, 



152 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and the visitor is impressed with the resemblance within 
to the famous Cologne Cathedral, which took six hundred 
years to build, while this church was begun barely twenty 
years ago. Worshippers are all about us, kneeling, praying, 
and passing in and out with reverential air. There could 
not be a more imposing monument than this to the patron 
saint of modern New York, St. Patrick. 

On the west side of Fifth Avenue, at Fifty-second and 
Fifty- third Streets, are the new, and as yet unfinished Van- 
derbilt residences. Two of them occupy the block between 
Fifty-second and Fifty-third Streets, and are of brownstone, 
with a connecting passage-way containing the common door- 
way for both. The fronts are finely decorated, and the prog- 
ress of construction is slow. These will be the homes of Wil- 
liam H. Vanderbilt's children, while on the north side of 
Fifty-second Street is his own new house, built of white stone, 
and with its pointed tower on top looking like a castle from the 
Rhine. It has a magnificent portico enclosing the doorway, 
and like the others is unfinished. These are thfe three finest 
dwellings in New York, money being lavished without stint on 
their decoration ; and yet we are told by guileless newspaper 
scribes that their millionnaire builder, who owns several rail- 
roads, and has one little investment of fifty millions in United 
States four per cent, bonds, feels in constant dread of poverty. 
Fifth Avenue has its lights and shadows, for when the mil- 
lionnaire occupies his new house, he can look out of the win- 
dows at the smaller house over the way where the notorious 
Madame Restell lived in guilty splendor, and killed herself 
to avoid imprisonment when her crimes had been exposed. 
There are brownstone churches at the Fifty-third and Fifty- 
fifth Street corners, the latter. Dr. John Hall's great church. 
St. Luke's Hospital is also here. At Fifty-sixth Street, on 
the northwest corner, is the fine castellated brick residence 
of Mr. Kemp, the hero of the " window war." His neighbors 
on Fifty-sixth Street persisted in having windows that over- 
looked him, and a short turn into that street discloses the 
efiective barricade which Kemp erected to shut them up. It 
was torn down and rebuilt, and now stands braced against 
the oJBFending windows by stout iron supports, an effectual 
estoppel. At Fifty-seventh Street corner is the fourth Van- 
dcrbilt house, also unfinished, which will be the residence "of 



NEW FORK CITY. 153 

Cornelius Vanderbilt. This is William H. Vanderbilt's son, 
and as long-headed a financier as lives in New York. His 
gi-andfather, the old commodore, was so pleased with his 
financial tact that he once gave him a little present of five 
millions of dollars. This exhausts Fifth Avenue, for at 
Fifty-ninth Street is Central Park, for which it forms the 
eastern boundary. 



XX. 

NEW YOEK CITY. 
CENTRAL PARK. 



We have come up Fifth Avenue, and crossing the broad 
and usually dusty region that intervenes for a square or two, 
enter Central Park at the southeast corner. Fifth Avenue 
proceeds straight northward as the eastern boundary of the 
Park, but the buildings on it are neither numerous nor orna- 
mental, excepting the very handsome Lenox Library, about a 
mile above the Park entrance. We drive in, and the carriage 
rolls smoothly along. the broad road between the trees and 
shrubbery, and in a few minutes the heat and dust and roar 
of the city are forgotten in the delicious shade that overhangs 
the winding road. Here is a pleasure-ground that has had 
lavished upon it all that art and expense can do, and it is not 
only appreciated by New York, but the enterprising inhab- 
itants thereof are bound to make all the rest of the world 
appreciate it. This Park is a parallelogram about two and 
one-third miles long by a half-mile wide, and covers eight 
hundred and forty-three acres, but the large Croton reser- 
voirs and some other public works monopolize a considerable 
part of this, the biggest reservoir covering over one hundred 
acres, so that only six hundred and eighty-three acres are 
properly the Park. Any one who recollects this ground 
twenty years ago, can well imagine the immense labor of 
converting it into the present magnificent pleasure-ground. 
The original surface was either rock or marsh, and most 
unattractive and rough in appearance. When work began, 



154 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

in 1858, the topography of the ground was in many respects 
exactly the reverse of what would be chosen by any intelli- 
gent selection for a park ; but the American has indomitable 
energy, and, though it required enormous outlay, the im- 
provement was pushed through, and as each section was open 
to the public it became more and more popular. Who, in 
now riding over this splendid region, can imagine that not 
long ago it consisted chiefly of rocks and ash-heaps, and was 
the depository for the refuse of the town, and that at one 
time as many as four thousand men were employed mainly 
in the occupation of hauling away almost countless cart- 
loads of ashes, which had to be removed before the actual 
surface of the ground reappeared. This desert of rubbish 
had neither lawns nor foliage, and was the abiding-place of 
colonies of squatters, whose shanties still protrude at intervals 
around the borders. 

The road we enter leads, by a gently winding course, past 
pretty little lakes to a point where the view is seen along the 
Mall or promenade. Here many thousands gather on fine 
afternoons to hear the music. Broad green surfaces give a 
tranquil landscape, and looking along the Mall through its 
avenue of elms, the Observatory, a little gray-stone tower, is 
seen away off over another lake. Proceeding farther, at the 
end of the Mall, the Terrace is crossed, bordering the lake, 
to which the ground slopes down. A fountain plashes on one 
side, while on the other is the concert-ground, overlooked by 
a shaded gallery called the Pergola. Here has art done its 
best to make magnificence, and here congregate the nurses 
and children. The former wear their little white French caps 
and broad aprons, 'but generally have a Hibernian cast of 
countenance, while not a few of them flirt with beaux, leav- 
ing the babies to look out for themselves. Over across the 
water, where the Observatory stands, is a rocky and wooded 
slope called the Ramble, with numerous paths winding through 
it. There are play-grounds for the children, and also other 
lakes in the South Park, and the road there winds along, 
leading us past statues and pretty vista views to the space 
alongside the smaller reservoir. Here a procession of little 
school children passed us on the foot-path. They were out 
on a picnic and were merrily singing. Not far away the 
Egyptian Obelisk stands up, with workmen constructing a road 



NEW YORK CITY. 155 

around it to give a better view. Beyond this is the Art Mu- 
seum, which now has within an exhibition of paintings and 
sculpture and the Di Cesnola collection of antiquities. We 
enter for a few minutes to look at the curiosities, and find that 
the broad round-topped roof and skylight, looking much like 
a railway station, well fit it for an exhibition room. Then 
the road passes along the edge of the Park, with just enough 
room for it to get through between the larger reservoir and 
Fifth Avenue, but both are admirably masked. Occasional 
glimpses through the foliage can, however, be got of the 
squatters and their squalid shanties, with a mixed population 
of pigs, children, and goats, who are the nabobs of this por- 
tion of Fifth Avenue. In drivins; along; we cross over four 
sunken streets, which are used as subways for the trafiic that 
has to pass across the Park from one side of the city to the 
other, and, reaching the North Park, find extensive meadows, 
and beyond them the ruins of Mount St. Vincent. This ad- 
mirably-located house was formerly a convent, and afterwards 
became a house of refreshment well patronized by the Park 
visitors. Its windows gave magnificent views, but not long 
ago it was burned down, and a few blackened walls are all 
that remains. They have had to exercise economy in New 
York lately, and have not rebuilt it. Beyond and in the 
northeast corner of the Park is another lake with boat-houses 
and pretty little boats on it ; while on the other side, near the 
western verge, you mount up on Harlem Heights, where 
there is a fine lookout. Away oif to the northwest can be 
seen the High Bridge over the Harlem Biver, with its tall 
arches, bringing the Croton Aqueduct down to the city, and 
the tower on the western side that is used for a standpipe. 
The banks of the Harlem Biver are steep and apparently 
covered with trees. Across the Hudson are seen the Pali- 
sades along the Jersey shore dim and hazy in the distance. 
In the foreground just outside the Park, the Elevated Bail- 
way runs along on its high stilts, and just beyond is the Lion 
Brewery and its picnic-grounds, where the Germans love to 
go, and the foaming beer is always on tap. But it is impos- 
sible to describe all the beauties of this fjimous and lovely 
Park, or to give more than a passing glance at its embowered 
walks, where tired pedestrians recline on benches under the 
trailing vines ; or its flock of contented sheep, who run over 



156 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the meadow and live at night in a house more magnificent 
than many we have seen along Fifth Avenue. The Park's 
northern boundary is at One Hundred and Tenth Street. 



NORTHERN NEW YORK CITY. 

Upper Manhattan Island is being rapidly converted into a 
j-egion of civilization by the making of magnificent boulevards 
and the extension of the Elevated Railroad. Let us drive 
out on one of these new boulevards one hundred and fifty 
feet wide, and exceeding in width and length the Parisiiiu 
boulevards, after which they are patterned, though they lack 
the buildings that make up the chief part of Parisian gran- 
deur. Here is again the land of the squatter. We pass the 
polo-grounds, and beyond find the shanties perched on the 
rocks and their inhabitants neglecting to pay any rent. Ofi" 
to the westward the Elevated Railroad curves around on its 
enormously high trestle, for it crosses a piece of low ground, 
and the train comes along moving slowly and cautiously on 
its ticklish perch, giving one very much the sensation pro- 
duced by skating on thin ice. The great roads go on to the 
northward as far as the eye can see, and our driver, an 
enthusiastic New Yorker of Irish birth, pronounced an eulogy 
on the late William M. Tweed, who gave so many poor men 
work in laying out these broad avenues. We take St. Nich- 
olas Avenue, and as the fast trotters go by, raising a great 
dust, are told that any one can drive over these roads as fast 
as he pleases ; and that here is where Bonner, and Vander- 
bilt, and General Grant usually test their horseflesh. Rocks 
poke up their gray, moss-covered heads through all this re- 
gion, and far away to the westward can be seen the Palisades. 
There is steady work going on, however, at blasting these 
rock away, and an occasional new building shows how the city 
is spreading northward. At intervals among the rocks there 
are nooks where good soil abounds, and here are little market- 
gardens and hotbeds growing vegetables and berries. We 
drive out St. Nicholas Avenue miles above the Park to the 
high ground overlooking Harlem. Here is a grand view to 
the eastward, with the Elevated Railway trains clattering along 
at our feet. The hilltops and woods hide Harlem, but oflF on 
the other side of Harlem River is Morrisania and a dozen 



NEW YORK CITY. 157 

other villages, the distant view being closed in by hazy hills. 
A gentle breeze blows in our faces as we stop to look out over 
the serene and quiet scene. 

Thus could we go on indefinitely, for the avenue runs into 
the King's Bridge road, and that takes the tourist over the 
little old historic bridge crossing Harlem River at the upper 
end of the island. We have gone to One Hundred and 
Fiftieth Street, and turn back, down the Boulevards and 
through the Park again, into the city. This time we leave 
the Park at the southwestern gate and proceed down Broad- 
way, between its high buildings and back of them the crowded 
tenement-houses, with their fire-escapes on the outside wall. 
We drive through a region of big factories, carriage-works, 
and horse-auctions, and diagonally across the avenues until 
we reach the section that seems chiefly devoted to little 
theatres, restaurants, and concert-gardens, over which presides, 
on account of its bigness, the Metropolitan Concert-Hall, 
which has its entire roof made into a beer-garden. Just 
below, the ground is being prepared for the new Operq, 
House, which will cover the entire block between Thirty- 
ninth and Fortieth Streets. Let us cross over out of Broad- 
way and go to the Bowery. At Eighth Street and Astor Place 
is the Clinton Hall, now the Mercantile Library building, 
where the Forrest-Macready riots occurred in the olden time. 
In Astor Place is the Astor Library, constructed of brown- 
stone below and brick above. Just beyond is the great 
Cooper Institute building, and we turn into the Bowery, 
with this monument of Peter Cooper's generosity towering 
behind us. The Bowery is a magnified Cheapside, a broad 
street lined with stores of all kinds, where close bargaining 
usually goes on. Here the ambitious Philadelphia railway 
lover can go if he wants to study the full measure of bring- 
ing railways through the streets. The Bowery enjoys them 
to the utmost. It has four sets of railway tracks laid down 
on the street, and is roofed over with another set of elevated 
tracks above. People who want Market Street " improved" 
in this way can study how to do it in the Bowery, where 
horse-cars, freight-cars, steam-cars, and elevated-cars appear 
to have unlimited swing, and there is not room left for much 
else. The pavements are crowded with busy people moving 
in and out of the shops, and the street looks like a new world, 

14 



158 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

it is so different from Broadway. We pass along by that 
ancient and famous temple of tlie exuberant drama, witli its 
columns in front, the " Old Bowery," now the Thalia Theatre, 
and, turning into Catharine Street, drive down by its market- 
sheds to the edge of the East River. Here is a great traffic, 
for the big vessels congregate at all these docks, and com- 
merce reigns supreme. The hurried survey of New York 
is ended, but, before venturing across to Brooklyn, we will 
halt the sketch till another day. 



XXI. 

BEOOKLYN. 
THE EAST BIVER BRIDGE. 

Evert one has heard of the great East Biver suspension- 
bridge, and every visitor to New York has seen its ponderous 
piers standing up far above the city, with the massive cables 
laid across them. Let us go over the ferry from New York 
to Brooklyn at Catharine Street. The East Biver is a com- 
paratively narrow strait of not more than one-third the width 
of the Hudson. Shipping crowd its wharves on both sides, 
while so great is the travel between the cities, that the ferry 
arrangements are elaborate and cheap. Your two-horse car- 
riage is taken over for twenty cents, and some vehicles for 
much less. If on foot you pay two cents, excepting between 
five and half past seven o'clock, morning and evening, when, 
to accommodate the working-classes, the ferriage is but one 
cent, and the rush is tremendous. I recollect the late Cyrus 
P. Smith, who for many years managed these Union ferries, 
telling how he used to go down to the slips just before five 
o'clock in the afternoon, and look at the millionnaires standing 
negligently about, waiting for five o'clock to strike, so that 
they could save a cent on their transportation over the river. 
A half-million people a day will sometimes be carried over 
these ferries, which are the greatest transporters of human 



BROOKLYN, 159 

beings in the world. To provide fur this immense traffic, 
often impeded by fog and ice, the East River bridge is being 
built. As we pass over the river its immense piers rise far 
above us, with the four great cables swung from one to the 
other, while hioh up in the air is rigged the tiny foot-bridge, 
over which people are walking, looking like little black specks 
moving alone; against the sky. Work is going on upon both 
sides of the" river, putting in the suspension-rods, and, de- 
pendent from them, the beams that are to hold up the floor 
of the bridge. From each pier this work is being pushed 
out on eithe'r hand, so as to maintain a proper balance. The 
flooring-beams, when they are all laid, will gently curve up 
towards the centre, so as to make that the highest point ot 
the bridge. This great work, which has but one rival, the 
remarkable railway-bridge constructed by James B. Eads 
across the Mississippi at St. Louis, will have its floor raised 
one hundred and thirty-five feet above the water, m the cen- 
tre of the river, while the distance between the piers is about 
sixteen hundred feet. It is three thousand four hundred and 
seventy-five feet long between the anchorage of the four 
sixteen-inch cables, and the bridge is designed for eighty-five 
feet width, dving ample passage-ways for car-tracks, wagon- 
roads, and foot-passengers. It is all of iron and steel, and 
the cables are made of galvanized steel wire. This massive 
work was expected to be finished several years ago, but the 
task is greater than was imagined when it was projected, ten 
years since, and the Trustees now say it will be ready for 
travel in 1882. In New York the roadway to it will rise 
from Chatham Street, opposite the City Hall Park, and the 
huge fjranite supporting-piers are almost finished. In Brook- 
lyn^ tlie roadway comes down on Fulton Street, so that the 
whole leno-th of bridge and approaches is considerably over 
a mile. The river-piers are built upon caissons sunk upon 
the rocky bed of the stream, which is forty-five feet below 
the surface on the Brooklyn side, and ninety feet below on 
the New York side. These towers are one hundred and 
thi'i-ty-four feet long by fifty-six feet broad at the water-line, 
and, as their tops rise two hundred and sixty-eight feet above 
hioh water, it is no wonder they can be seen from afar. The 
anchorages of the cables are the most massive constructions 
of ma^sonry I ever saw, each containing about thirty five 



160 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

thousand cubic yards of solid masonry. This immense work 
is Koebling's monument. 

THE CITY OF CHURCHES. 

The short ferry ride brings us to the city of Brooklyn, 
which, though the third in population in the Union, is only 
a suburb of New York, most of its people crossing the river 
daily to their New York occupations. The ordinary traveller 
usually knows very little of Brooklyn, excepting that it is called 
the " City of Churches/' and is supposed to be governed by 
Henry Ward Beecher. We ride up from the ferry-house 
past the massive bridge approaches, which gradually bring the 
roadway down to the ground, that rises sharply to meet it. 
Along Fulton Street, lined with stores, we proceed to the City 
Hall, and find all the buildings decorated with flags, for, true 
to the instincts of the town, the Sunday-school children are 
having a holiday, and are out on parade. We meet detach- 
ments of them wherever we go, the teachers marching, too, 
and the ladies with huge sunshades tramping over the 
stones. After looking a moment at the City Hall and its 
adjacent city buildings, we seek out Brooklyn Heights, the 
region of aristocratic residences, where the Brooklyn million- 
naires can look from their bluff, which must be seventy feet 
high, across East Biver, at the busy harbor and city of New 
York. Let us drive along Clinton Avenue, lined with rows 
of trees, behind which are fine residences, many of them 
surrounded with ornamental grounds. Here we come upon 
a region of churches. St. Ann's, at the corner of Clinton 
and Livingston Streets, and its adjoining chapel are said to 
have cost two hundred thousand dollars. This grand Epis- 
copal church is a pointed Gothic structure, built of Cleve- 
land stone. The Holy Trinity Episcopal Church, at Mon- 
tague Street, is a Glothic brownstone, with a spire rising two 
hundred and seventy-five feet, the highest in Brooklyn. St. 
Paul's Episcopal Church, at the corner of Carroll Street, is 
of blue granite, rough-hewn and relieved by sandstone. The 
street has an orphan asylum and fine club-houses upon it, 
but the two most famous churches of Brooklyn, though by no 
means its grandest buildings, are located elsewhere. One 
square west of Clinton Street is Henry Street, and a short 
detour brinixs us to Bev. Dr. Storrs' Church of the Pilgriuis. 



BROOKLYN. 161 

at Remsen and Henry Streets, a gray-stone building with a 
tall tower, that can be seen fiir down New York Bay. The 
piece of the " Plymouth Rock" inserted in the tower just 
above the ground, tells that the descendant of the Puritan 
worships within. A few feet from Henry Street, on Orange 
Street, is Beecher's fiimous Plymouth Church. This, about 
the plainest, though the most capacious church in Brooklyn, 
has the widest reputation of all. It is a brick house, looking 
as if it might have been one of the older brick churches of 
Philadelphia transported to Brooklyn. An inscription under 
the roof reads, " Plymouth Church, 1849,'' and the sexton's 
sign is tacked to the wall alongside the front door, but you 
look in vain for Beecher's name. It is not needed. 

GREENWOOD CEMETERY. 

New York is said to go over to Brooklyn chiefly to sleep 
and be buried. As it is the dormitory, so it is the graveyard 
of the metropolis, and contains several large cemeteries. Let 
us drive across the pretty regions of residences with gardens 
in front, known as " First Place" and " Second Place," on the 
way to visit Greenwood Cemetery. Of the Brooklyn ceme- 
teries, this is the largest, as it is the most famous ; and its 
favorable position on the high ridge which divides Brooklyn 
from the lowlands of the Long Island south shore, and which 
in this portion is known as Gowanus Heights, gives elevations 
affording extensive views. But from Brooklyn Heights it is 
not very pleasant to get at, there being no direct road. We 
drive out, zigzagging from one street to another, through a 
partly built-up region, with vacant lots, used for ash-dumps, 
and among ancient-looking houses, many of them frames. A 
swing drawbridge carries the road over Gowanus Creek, 
which runs down into Gowanus Bay, a deep indentation ir^ 
this portion of the Long Island shore. Beyond is a good 
deal of made ground, not yet filled up or built upon, but with 
streets opened through it, the intervening squares having 
swampy places and ponds in them, which the rubbish-dump- 
ers are trying to obliterate. We go along a broad, but badly- 
paved, avenue, and, after more zigzags, with New York har- 
bor and its vessels in view, some distance off to the westward, 
we get on Fifth Avenue, and begin to mount to higher ground. 
Railroads are crossed at intervals, all leading to Coney Island, 
I 14^ 



162 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and, in fact, almost every route of passenger transportation 
in Brooklyn seems to have this great resort as its objective- 
point. Fifth Avenue finally brings us to the region of the 
florists and the stone-masons, and we pass many monumental 
marble-works, some of them on a most extensive scale. 
Turning at Twenty-third Street into a neat lawn-bordered 
road, leading up a slight hill, we approach the magnificent 
Cemetery entrance. This is a monumental structure of brown- 
stone, highly ornamented, and having a central pinnacle rising 
over one hundred feet in height. It covers two gateways 
and stretches with the adjoining buildings for one hundred 
and thirty-two feet, while its width is forty feet. Over each 
gateway and on each side is a has-relief^ the four representing 
gospel scenes, the chief being the Resurrection of the Sa- 
viour and the Raising of Lazarus. No burial-place has a 
more appropriate or more splendid entrance. The Cemetery 
itself opens in beauty the moment the gate is passed. The 
hills spread out in all directions, while ofi" to the right, through 
a depression, is caught a glimpse of New York Bay, appear- 
ing the more beautiful because the moving carriage quickly 
closes the view. Greenwood covers over four hundred acres 
of hill and vale, its hill-sides terraced with vaults, while grand 
mausoleums crown the hill-tops, and the frequent lakes in the 
little valleys add to the beauty of the place. It would require 
a day to explore its seventeen miles of carriage-roads, which 
are mostly broad winding avenues, and its many miles of 
foot-paths. The gravestones and monuments and lot enclo- 
sures are much like Laurel Hill, excepting that there are 
many more vaults let into the hill-sides, and quite a number 
of lots are enclosed with hedges. There is not so much 
crowding of graves, even in the most densely populated por- 
tions. The avenues and walks all bear pretty rural names. 
Many of the mausoleums are constructed on a scale of mag- 
nificence rarely attempted in Philadelphia, and the hill-tops 
affording commanding situations for these, together with the 
lakes, valleys, and grand views of the surrounding country 
constantly presented, make Greenwood as much a park as a 
burial-place, and give it at once the proud position of the 
most beautiful cemetery, perhaps, in the world. 

One of the mausoleums we saw from afar off was con- 
structed as a large marble church, and would hold a consider- 



BROOKLYN. 163 

able congregation. The Stein way Mausoleum is an immense 
granite structure on the hill-top. On another little hill-top 
a peculiarly constructed three-sided monument, concave on 
each side, marks the resting-place of Samuel F. B. Morse, 
the inventor of the telegraph. Not far from here is the 
tomb of Horace G-reeley, surmounted with his bust, in bronze 
on a pedestal. A colossal statue of De Witt Clinton marks 
the grave of the famous governor of New York, who con- 
structed the Erie Canal, to which, more than anything else, 
New York City owes her commercial greatness. The modest 
grave of Lola Montez, marked by a plain stone bearing her 
supposed original name of Gilbert, is in Greenwood. After 
a life of romance and splendor she died in poverty, at an 
asylum in Astoria. Barney Williams is buried here, and 
also William Niblo, the latter in a mausoleum of white marble 
that is appropriately constructed with a proscenium front. 
The Garrison Mausoleum looks like a miniature mosque, and 
has a fine portico, with vases above. The Scribner tomb is 
surmounted by a magnificent marble canopy, under which is 
the Angel of 3Iercy. But among ten thousand grand sep- 
ulchres it is idle to particularize, although no visitor can fail 
to be impressed with the tomb of Miss Canda, who died in 
early youth, and whose fortune was expended on her grave. 
There are monuments for the pilots, the firemen, and the sol- 
diers, and the latter, which has the statues on guard at its 
base, overlooks New York harbor. 

Over on the eastern side, near the border, there is a high 
lookout, with the flat land spread out as fiir as you can see, 
and away off" in the distance are the hotels and Observatory at 
Coney Island, on Brighton and Manhattan Beaches, with the 
ocean beyond, and the Navesink Highlands closing the view 
far over the water beyond Sandy Hook. The many roads to 
Coney Island can be traced out as on a map, and a train is 
running along one of them just outside the Cemetery ground. 
We change from the eastern to the western side of the Ceme- 
tery, and in doing so pass through the public ground, where 
there are many graves marked with little stones and without 
lot enclosures. As we drive again through the forest of 
monuments many people are seen caring for the graves and 
flowers, for all nature is akin in this. Then we reach another 
lookout, and from our high perch can see far away over 



164 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Brooklyn and the intervening harbor to Staten Island, with 
the low Jersey shore beyond. Gowanus Bay. with its vessels, 
is spread at our feet. The sun is in the west, shining on the 
water and making everything beautiful, and just behind us 
rises up the soldiers' monument on a hill- top, the guards at 
the base overlooking this grand sight. But we cannot linger 
here too long, though great is the inducement, and, turning 
about and going out of the eastern gate, we seek another 
badly-paved road, and jolt over ever so many more steam 
railroads and horse railroads all leading to Coney Island, for 
nearly every hotel there has its special line from the two 
great cities. The station arrangements all give evidence 
by their size and completeness of the immense summer 
traflfic these roads carry. Finally we reach the Coney Island 
Boulevard, a splendid road two hundred feet wide, planted 
with six rows of trees, and leading from the southwest corner 
of Prospect Park to Coney Island, three miles away. We 
join the immense stream of carriages and enter the Park. 

THE BROOKLYN PROSPECT PARK. 

This pleasure-ground, the construction of which was only 
begun about fifteen years ago, is in the southwestern part of 
Brooklyn, on a portion of an elevated ridge, and covers about 
five hundred and fifty acres. It has not the perfection in 
decoration and landscape gardening shown in Central Park, 
but it has the perfection of nature, for the natural undulating 
surface of the land has scarcely been changed, and the fine old 
trees that were there before the Park was thought of remain to 
give it a mature appearance. As we ride along its winding 
roads and through its woods and by its meadows, there is an 
irresistible reminder of Fairmount Park, although it lacks 
the beautiful water views along the Schuylkill. Yet on 
Lookout Hill there is a commanding view almost all around 
the compass, stretching from the lake at our feet over the sea 
and land, and combining Brooklyn, New York, the Jersey and 
Long Island shores, Staten Island, the Navesink Highlands, 
the bay and the ocean. Such a view it is worth climbing 
Lookout Hill to see. As we go along the driveway we pass 
this fine lake, covering probably fifty acres, with boats upon 
it, and a pretty bridge thrown across, and there are beautiful 
vista views through the trees across the water. Then there 



BROOKLYN. 165 

is a largo enclosure for deer, and an extensive playground for 
the children, where large numbers of the Brooklyn Sunday- 
school scholars were gathered, and evidently having a fine 
time. We pass through more woods and by the concert 
grove find promenade, and finally see the great Brooklyn 
reservoir oft" to the eastward, just outside the Park boundary. 
Then, going out at the main entrance towards the city, we 
drive through the Plaza, a large elliptical enclosure, with a 
magnificent fountain in the centre, where the water pours 
down over a huge mound, and as the cataract falls it runs 
over openings where it can be illuminated at night. From 
this Plaza we pass into Flatbush Avenue, a wide street with 
horse railways in the centre, making a direct road from Pros- 
pect Park to the City Hall and Fulton Street. 

As we go down this avenue and Fulton Street towards East 
River, the vast masses of people who pour across the ferries 
fill up the sidewalks and the horse-cars, for it is late in the 
afternoon, and the part of New York that lives in Brooklyn 
is homeward-bound. At Fulton ferry the crowds increase, 
and there are blockades of wagons and horse-cars, the vast 
multitude all passing out of the gates from the steamboats. 
We cross Fulton ferry, and the incoming tide in the river 
carries the boat up-stream under the great bridge. We have 
very little company going back to New York, but the numer- 
ous boats bound the other way are black with people, wedged 
into every available space in front and rear of the decks, the 
transportation of wagons at this hour being discouraged, there 
is such a vast multitude to carry over. When the slip is 
reached crowds are waiting to rush on the boat, scarcely 
allowing us room to get off" as they surge in through every 
opening in the gateways. There is a general exodus out of 
New York by boat, car, and omnibus, as well as on foot, for 
it is nearly seven o'clock. Crossing lower New York to the 
Hudson River side, through streets that a couple of hours 
before were crowded, they are found almost deserted. The 
Jersey City ferries show a similar hegira, and heavy car-loads 
are carried to all the Jersey towns, as we take an evening 
train for home. 



166 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

XXII. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILROAD. 

PHILADELPHIA TO LANCASTER. 

Let us to-day take an early morning start along the Penn- 
sylvania Railroad, the great line that has done so much to 
build up Philadelphia. Few of the younger generation know 
the history of the struggles and expedients that during the 
past half-century have culminated in the magnificent highway 
Philadelphia now has to connect her with the West. We 
cannot go farther than Lancaster to-day, but, as we ride 
swiftly and smoothly along, can reflect that our ancestors, 
only seventy-five years ago, were felicitating themselves upon 
the completion of the old Lancaster high road, with which the 
railroad keeps close company, as giving them the best means 
of communication the country then had. This road was fin- 
ished for over twenty years before the State began building 
the railroad between Philadelphia, Lancaster, and Columbia. 
This Columbia Railroad was located in 1828, and finished in 
1834, Major John Wilson, who died in 1833, constructing it 
almost to completion. His son is now the consulting engineer, 
and his grandson the engineer of bridges and buildings for 
the Pennsylvania Railroad. It was originally laid partly of 
flat and partly of edge rails, fastened to granite blocks, though 
there were some wooden ties, and the road was eighty-two 
miles long, having at each end an inclined plane, that at Phil- 
adelphia rising one hundred and eighty-seven feet, and the 
one at Columbia ninety feet. The old inclined plane, at the 
west end of the Columbia bridge, across the Schuylkill, at 
Belmont, can well be remembered. The cars went to it from 
Broad Street, where the tracks were then laid and the depots 
and storehouses located, out over the present line of the 
Reading Railroad, on Pennsylvania Avenue. The plane was 
two thousand eight hundred feet long, with a gradient of one 
to fifteen, and a stationary engine worked the ponderous 
cable to which the cars were attached and hauled up. It 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 167 

cost forty thousand dollars a year to work this inclined plane 
and keep the machinery in order. In its earlier history, the 
Columbia Railroad had no locomotives, and horses hauled the 
cars over it, but in 1836 locomotives were put on, it not bemg 
until then that our mechanical genius was able to produce a 
machine fit for the work. These locomotives belonged to and 
were worked by the State under the Board of Canal Commis- 
sioners, while the cars were the private property of individ- 
uals, who paid toll for having them pass over the road. It 
was in 1841 that the late Thomas A. Scott appeared in the 
capacity of a State toll-collector for this road at Columbia, 
while a few years later he was clerk for the collector at the 
Philadelphia terminus. Scott rose from these humble begin- 
nino-s to be the chief of the great Pennsylvania system ot 
railways, while his predecessor, John Edgar Thomson began 
his enc^ineering work in 1827, on the original surveys for the 
Columbia Railroad. The Pennsylvania Railroad itself was 
not incorporated until 18-46, and its work afterwards was the 
building of the railway west of Harrisburg. The completion 
of this' line, and the fact that the State works never paid ex- 
penses, led to the subsequent sale in 1857 of all of these works, 
including the Columbia Railroad, to the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road, a transaction in settlement for which that company is 
still 'paying annual instalments of four hundred thousand 
dollars to the State treasury. 

Let us go out Market Street past the causeway, about 
abandoned for the new Elevated line, but which in its day 
was part of a great work, for its use signalized the abandon- 
ment of the Belmont inclined plane. The train we take 
carries us through the West Philadelphia yard, with its maze 
of bewildering tracks, where there are thousands of cars ot 
all kinds arriving, departing, standing still, and being made 
up into trains to go East, West, or South. We pass the 
s;rain-elevator, the abattoir and its adjacent cattle-yards, and 
the round-houses ; skirt along the Schuylkill, with Fairmount 
Water-Works and hill in review across the river and the Park 
beyond, its river-bank lined with pretty boat-houses, and car- 
riao-es gliding along the road under the lindens and out around 
the° rocky point farther up. We run past the Zoological 
Garden and get a glimpse of the great bridge at Girard Ave- 
nue as the railway turns westward and leaves the river-bank. 



168 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Then under more bridges carrying streets overhead, and at 
the New York junction we pass another immense nest of 
waiting freight-cars, showing what a great trade this railroad 
has. The Centennial buildings are spread out on the right 
hand, with the little station in front with its half-dozen towers, 
where there was such a bustle during the Exhibition. Then 
there is a broad expanse of tracks filled with more cars, — oil- 
tanks, lumber- and freight-cars, — and beyond them the sun 
shines on the white marble Centennial Fountain, and the 
ground slopes up to George's Hill with its flagstaff, and the 
Belmont Elevator and Christ Church Hospital in the back- 
ground, and as the woods hide the great Concourse on 
Gi-eorge's Hill, we bid good-by to Philadelphia. 

The engine puffs and strains as it draws the train, for it is 
a heavy pull up-hill, the road rising to an elevation of four 
hundred and fifty feet above tide-water in about eight or nine 
miles. Trains pass in steady procession, and four sets of 
tracks are required for several miles out of town, to carry the 
enormous trafiic. We are running through a pretty country, 
— a land of villas, with lawns and terraces and ornamental 
grounds, while bits of woodland intervene, and gardens and 
green and brown fields are interspersed. For miles the 
country, on both sides of the road, is a succession of villas, 
every eligible situation being occupied by artistic buildings, 
while many new ones are going up. At frequent intervals, 
to be in keeping with the spirit of improvement, the railway 
has erected pretty stone houses for stations, with sodded 
banks and flower-beds around them, some of these buildings 
being perfect little gems that look as if they were brought 
bodily over from among the castles of the Rhine or the cot- 
tages of Switzerland. Ardmore presents a beautiful station 
as we rush by, and at Haverford the Quaker College is off 
among the trees to the southward of another pretty station. 
Next comes the broad settlement at Bryn Mawr, about nine 
miles out, with its rows of cottages and its fine hotel and 
Bplendid station, where a little foot-bridge goes over the 
tracks. No prettier village exists in this part of the country, 
both art and nature combining in its ornamentation ; and 
when the residents of this Elysium come to town to do their 
shopping and marketing they have an air of rural happiness 
about them that is charming. With so much beauty around, 



. THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 169 

it is no wonder the Bryn Mawr Hotel, with its broad piazzas 
and overtopping mansards, can take in four hundred people 
without crowding. 

Villa Nova, the well-known Catholic College established 
by the Augustinian Fathers, stands within an extensive lawn 
near the station, which is crowded with people as we go by. 
The Church always selects beautiful locations for its institu- 
tions. For a brief space the railway now runs through Dela- 
ware County, and there are seen extensive herds of grazing 
cattle. Radnor has a pretty brick house for its station, and 
a mile beyond, at Wayne, which is elevated about four hun- 
dred and fifty to five hundred feet above the level of the 
city, a square mile of land, embracing the old Louella tract 
and others, is being converted into a rural region of suburban 
homes. Here, about thirteen miles out of town, there are 
extensive improvements going on, a large hotel is built and 
the railway is to put up a new station. At this part of the 
journey we begin to come upon the work of straightening 
the Pennsylvania line. The old Columbia Railroad was 
built like a worm-fence, full of twists and curves ; for, when 
it was laid down, the surveyors believed in the doctrine of 
going around obstructions, not through them. For several 
years work has been going on at taking out these bends, and 
in some localities it is no easy task. We cross and recross 
the Lancaster turnpike, for the railroad surveyors well knew 
that the ancient road-makers sought the easiest gradient, 
and, in laying out the Columbia Railroad, they kept closely 
to the original road, which was one of the earliest turnpikes 
in the United States. Train after train of passengers and 
freight flit by us on the East-bound tracks, and at intervals 
we pass the solid signal- towers, with their red, green, and 
white disks for regulating train movements. 

THE LAND OF PLENTY. 

While, as we ride along, the country is still dotted with 
villas, old-fashioned farm-houses begin to intervene, and, 
passing into Chester County at Eagle, the road goes through 
rock-cuttings and over high embankments, for the spurs of 
the hills bordering the Chester Valley are encountered, and 
occasionally a depression in these hills to the northward gives 
a long vista view over that fnnous valley. The cars swing 
H 15 



170 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

around several more of the crooked curves of the old road, 
but work is busily prosecuted at straightening them. Passing 
Paoli, named after the Corsican Greneral Paoli, and fjimous 
as the birthplace of " Mad Anthony Wayne," we come to 
the scene of " Wayne's Massacre in 1777," and cross the 
summit at Malvern. Here we are five hundred and forty -five 
feet above tide- water, and the train, suddenly coming out of 
the hill-side, the glorious view of that land of plenty, the 
Chester Valley, bursts upon the delighted eye. Fields and 
farms are spread out for miles away, sloping down to the 
water-courses, meandering through the bottom-land, and then 
fur up on the other side till the view is closed by the hazy 
summit of the distant wooded hills. Here it is that they 
make the delicious butter which they bring to town and 
sometimes sell for a dollar a pound ; and many an old stock- 
ing is hidden away in the thrifty farm-houses we are looking 
down upon, which is filled with the hoarded gold that butter 
attracts. At Frazer, on the hill-side, we halt a moment at 
the West Chester intersection, where a line runs off through 
the heart of the great dairy region to the county-seat. We 
have now left the villa for the farm-land, and starting up 
again, the train runs for miles along the border of this beau- 
tiful valley, stretching out from our feet far away to the 
northeast. At Glenloch, like an outpost for the villa i^egion 
left behind, a pretty chateau stands a few hundred yards to 
the right of the station. Above here, the crooks and curves 
have been taken out of the roadway, and we speed swiftly 
along on the straight track, with remnants of the abandoned 
road bed seen on either hand as it zigzags across the present 
direct line. Gradually we go down the hill-side, the lower 
level of the valley rises towards us, and the Chester Valley 
Railroad can be seen coming up from the Schuylkill at Nor- 
ristown to meet us. It runs for a long distance almost par- 
allel to our line. Little creeks, the tributaries of the Brandy- 
wine, meander through the meadows. 

Work is going on here at an extensive rate on the new 
railway line, yet unfinished, and the cars, which now continue 
on the old road, are zigzagging around its short curves with 
successive swings from side to side. Little villages are seen 
oiF in the valley, each with its church-spire and graveyard. 
We run swiftly through Downingtown, over the east branch 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 171 

of the Brandywine Creek and the roads beneath us, and the 
railway adheres closely to the edge of the turnpike beyond 
the town, the horses along the road becoming restive as the 
engine closely passes them. We are now thirty-two miles 
from Philadelphia ; the valley narrows, the fields become ap- 
parently larger, and the old houses along the turnpike give 
the country a settled rural air. At Thorndale we pass an 
iron-furnace with piles of pig iron, coal, and cinders, and in 
the fields above Cain some horses roll over on the grass, and 
kick up their heels to show contempt for the locomotive. 
We pass Coatesville, scattered over a wide extent of ground, 
with its fine brick station, and cross the pretty valley beyond 
on a high bridge, carrying us seventy-three feet above the 
broad creek, and almost over the chimneys of a huge iron- 
mill. The west branch of the historic Brandywine runs 
below us, and the stream courses far down the vale through 
beautiful scenes and past many an old and picturesque mill 
till it reaches Wilmington. We are on the other side of the 
Chester Valley now, and the railway grade rises to cross the 
summits of the ridges dividing us from Lancaster County. 
Running through Pomeroy and Parkesburg we have a chance 
to hurriedly inspect the back yards of sundry houses whose 
fronts are along the turnpike. Gliding through deep rock- 
cuttings, over banks and swinging around curves, we rush 
through Christiana, and at Gap, about fifty miles from Phila- 
delphia, pass the highest point on the railway between the 
Delaware and Susquehanna Rivers, elevated five hundred and 
sixty feet above tide- water. In this beautiful region, where 
the gap in Mine Hill gives such a bewitching view of the 
Pequea Valley beyond it, was formerly the home of the 
counterfeiters, and, though the law has long since driven 
away its violators, many are the tales of adventure still told, 
and many the phantom visions averred to be still seen here 
of the noted criminals of a former day. But we glide 
through the Gap, and once more on the down grade we begin 
crossing the fertile farms of Lancaster County, the garden 
of Pennsylvania, and the region where the good wheat is 
grown, that in former days ruled the wheat-markets of the 
country. But now railway extensions have opened the 
Western prairies, and, though Lancaster wheat is as good as 
ever, Chicago rules the quotations. This is a land of broad 



172 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES, 

acres and big barns, and at Gap the great region is spread 
out before us that gives some of the best crops in the State, 
dotted over with immense barns, and waving fields of corn, 
wheat, and rye. Here is a scene to feast the farmers' eyes, 
for it betokens thrift, plenty, and rural wealth. An occa- 
sional windmill on top of a barn, however, indicates that 
these hard-working agriculturists have learned too much to 
pump their water by hand-power, when other means will do 
it. At Kinzer's they mine the nickel that makes our five- 
cent pieces, this being the only nickel-mine in the United 
States. Limekilns and limestone-quarries abound, showing 
where they get a good fertilizer, and thus the train carries us 
into the region of the " old red sandstone," with its dark 
brownish-red and rich soil, a broad belt stretching diagonally 
across the State. Here the railway stations have an aged 
appearance, not yet renewed by ornamental buildings like 
those nearer the city. The rich farms spread as far as eye 
can see on either hand, with limekilns scattered over the land 
to work the deposits, and we pass the two pretty houses at 
the station, with the odd name of Bird-in-Hand, which stand 
out on the edge of the village. 



THE LAND OP THE CONESTOGAS. 

A perfect sun shines from a cloudless sky over the broad 
expanse of waving grain-fields, as we run through the land of 
the Conestogas. They were, in their day, a great people, and 
three hundred years ago they hunted along the Susquehanna 
and ruled all this land, but in the early days of Pennsylvania 
had begun to decline, and in 1763, the last remnant, taking 
refuge in the Lancaster jail, were cruelly massacred by the 
" Paxton boys," or, as sometimes called, the " Paxtang Han- 
gers." It has never been satisfactorily determined whether 
these Indians were the inventors of the ancient Conestoga 
wagons, which the older Ledger readers can well remember 
as coming in long trains from these fertile regions laboriously 
to Philadelphia, and filling up Market Street as they backed 
up to the curb to land produce and load up supplies, in the 
days anterior to the railway. Thus we ride rapidly into Lan- 
caster, and, as we cross Conestoga Creek, which runs down to 
Safe Harbor on the Susquehanna, can see the town off to the 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 173 

left hantl, and above it rises the red sandstone castellated 
tower that effectually reproduces the castles of the llhine. 
We picture, in imagination, Rheinsteiu and Drachenfels, but 
are disappointed to find that it only surmounts the county 
jail. 

Past iron-mills and railway-shops, and through a deep and 
frequently bridged-over rock- cutting, we run into the station. 
This is the ancient " Hickory Town," sixty-eight miles from 
Philadelphia, once the Capital of Pennsylvania, and, for many 
years, the most populous inland city of this country. One 
hundred and fifty years ago it tired of the ancient name of 
Hickory Town, and loyally christened itself Lancaster, the 
two chief streets intersecting at the Central Market Square 
being also loyally named King Street and Queen Street. 
Here is the fine shaft, with surmounting statue, erected in 
memory of the soldiers who fell in the war of the Rebellion, 
a tasteful monument, with guards standing on duty around 
the base. The Conestoga Creek furnishes water for the city, 
though most of the built-up portion is elevated probably one 
hundred feet above the stream, and in one of the prettiest 
parts of the southern suburbs is the picturesque cemetery of 
Woodward Hill. Franklin and Marshall College stands on 
an eminence, and can be seen from afar. Lancaster has con- 
tributed many great men to the country, llobert Fulton was 
raised and educated here, though his bones lie in New York. 
Thaddeus Stevens, the "Great Commoner," lies under a 
chaste yet modest casket in the cemetery. Not far away is 
also the grave of James Buchanan, the only President Penn- 
sylvania ever gave the United States, and whose comfortable 
home of Wheatland was just outside the city. I well re- 
member in the early spring of 1857, when Philadelphia was 
plunged in mourning by the death of Dr. Kane, what a bustle 
there was in Lancaster when the first Pennsylvania President 
left town on the Columbia Railroad to go to Washington and 
be inaugurated. He was housed in Washington at the Na- 
tional Hotel, and narrowly escaped losing his life by the 
mysterious poisoning there, which was fatal to many of the 
inauguration guests. In those days the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road named a locomotive after him, but it only gives them 
numbers now. It was at Lancaster, then the frontier town 
of the country, that Braddock's expedition in 1753 was or- 

15* 



174 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

ganized and equipped by Benjamin Franklin for tlie ill-fated 
inarch to Pittsburg. The shady banks of the Conestoga it 
will be seen have contributed much to American history. 



XXIII. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILKOAD. 

LANCASTER TO HARRISBURG. 

We have come from Philadelphia to Lancaster, and now 
let us continue the journey to llarrisburg. The train, on 
leaving the station at Lancaster, curves around to the right 
hand, running closely to the houses, and leaving the city as 
quickly as possible. A short distance out is Dillersville, where 
the railway divides, the freight- trains going westward by the 
main line of the railway, over easy gradients to the Susque- 
hanna River at Columbia, while the passenger line takes the 
Harrisburg Pvailroad towards the northwest, a shorter and. 
more direct road, rejoining the main line at Middletown on 
the Susquehanna. This road rises steadily up the hill towards 
the summit of the ridge dividing the waters of the Conestoga 
from those of the Conewago. We still pass over rich farm- 
land, cultivated for all it is worth, and run on the single track 
with the cars almost scraping fences and houses, for in the 
days of early railway construction, when this line was laid 
out, the projectors bought just as little land for their road as 
was necessary, and did not, as now, provide broad strips on 
either side of the tracks. We slow down at the Columbia 
and Reading Railroad crossing, and soon can be seen, far away 
to the southward, the high hills beyond the Susquehanna, 
almost obscured in the hazy distance. We run through 
Mount Joy, with its signal-tower built on the top of the sta- 
tion, and almost scratch the corners of the old building as the 
train rushes diagonally across the main street. Beyond, there 
are more rock-cuttings, and the railway runs through an oc- 
casional tunnel which has had its rocky top taken off to pre- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 175 

vent stones falling down on the cars. We pass Elizabeth town, 
spread out over the valley, and now are going down grade 
towards the Conewago, which divides Lancaster and Dauphin 
Counties. Rocks and boulders are scattered over the rough 
country, with wild woods growing over them, and a broad 
valley stretches off to the north, with round-topped hills be- 
yond, parts of the Conewago hills, better known as the South 
Mountain range. The train runs slowly over the Conewago 
liigh bridge, its wild gorge far beneath stretching down 
towards the Susquehanna, its striking scenery being a veri- 
table Swiss reproduction. The creek flows a torrent over its 
rocky bed, and the train goes through deep rock-cuttings on 
either bank. The railway now steadily approaches the Sus- 
quehanna, and we come out on the side of its wide valley, 
with the grand river on the left hand, a mile wide and filled 
with little islands, and protruding rocks, over which the water 
foams and tumbles. The Susquehanna is an immense water- 
course and drain, but good for nothing as a navigable stream 
excepting for canal-boats and rafts. Nature has sown it too 
thickly with rocks and shallows for even the River and Har- 
bor Bill to improve it, though this river is four hundred miles 
long. Gradually the train descends the hill, and near Mid- 
dletown runs into the main line of railway again. We cross 
the Swatara River, and over creeks and waterways filled with 
rafts and run through Middletown, past huge furnaces and 
iron-mills and thence up along the river bank, the densely- 
wooded hills of York County rising abruptly on the other 
side. More magnificent farms are passed, with white fences 
and red gates along the roadside, their fields and orchards 
stretching down to the river's edge, as we glide along between 
the river and the canal, with its tree-embowered towpath. 
More huge furnaces, and the immense Bessemer Steel- Works 
at Baldwin are passed, with pig- and scrap-iron lying around 
in endless profusion, and car-loads of rails departing for dis- 
tant roads. On goes the line through the villages these great 
works congregate along the river- J3ank, and finally we pass 
the historic estate of Lochiel, where the chief of the clan, 
the venerable General Cameron, is living in his declining 
years. In a few minutes we are landed in the station at 
Harrisburg. " Twenty miiiu'es f.ir refreshmcn'S," shout the 
train hands, and the passengers rush for the restaurant, where 



176 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

an able-bodied youth beats a deafening gong, and neatly- 
dressed girls serve a very good dinner. 

THE STATE CAPITAL. 

A brief survey of Harrisburg convinces the visitor that it 
has magnificent surrounding scenery, but is a dull town when 
the Legislature is not in session, whatever it may be when 
that body does meet. Let us take a short walk along Market 
Street, which has several fine buildings upon it, including the 
stately brick Court-House with the tall columns in front. The 
attention will be chiefly attracted, however, by the white 
painted brick hotel, with dark trimmings around the windows, 
surmounted by a mansard-roof, on the front of which is in- 
scribed " Lochiel." Here is the centre of Harrisburg states- 
manship, and in its halls, parlors, and bedchambers the destiny 
of the State is shaped. What a tale of intrigue and ambition, 
made as well as thwarted, its walls could unfold ! Let us 
walk a square or two from the hotel to an enclosed park, 
with a sloping lawn, and, entering at the corner, go along the 
board walk leading up to the big building in the centre. This 
is the walk the Harrisburg statesmen daily take from the 
hotel up Capitol Hill to the Capitol itself, a fine brick build- 
ing, one hundred and eighty feet long, with a circular col- 
umned portico in front and a surmounting dome. In this 
building, for nearly sixty years, the Legislature has met, but, 
since the recent enlargement of membership of the lower 
House, that wing has been inconveniently crowded. Harris- 
burg has been the Capital since 1812, and the Capitol has been 
occupied since 1822. A pretty flower-garden, surrounding a 
fountain, ornaments the park, and alongside is the white marble 
monument erected in memory of the soldiers of the Mexican 
war. In front of it, laid on a rather dilapidated trestle, are 
seven bronze cannon that were captured from the Mexicans, 
some of them bearing dates as early as 1756. They have 
Spanish inscriptions and ornamentation, and on the largest is 
the date 1842, and an inscription announcing"its capture at 
Cerro Gordo in 1847, and that it was presented to the State 
by our venerable townsman, General Kobert Patterson. 

The Capitol faces the Susquehanna, and State Street, fronting 
the portico, leads down a short distance to the river-bank, with 
a pretty view, in the centre of which, at the intersection of 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 177 

Second Street, is the obelisk erected to the memory of the 
Dauphin County soldiers who fell in the war of the llebellion. 
This is a reproduction of Cleopatra's Needle, though much 
larger. Walking down past two pretty churches to the river, 
the Front Street is found to be the great promenade, and along 
it, facing the river, are many large residences. One of these, a 
particularly fine new cut-stone house, built in modern style and 
ornamented with gardens and foliage, at the corner of State 
Street, will arrest attention as probably one of the best dwell- 
ings in liarrisburg. This is the luxurious home of Senator 
Cameron, Avho, when he tires of statecraft, can look out of his 
fi'ont windows and see the glorious view. It is a grand scene. 
The river current ripples over the stones in front, while big and 
little islands are scattered at intervals, and rocks rear their 
rounded and worn tops in all directions. Across the river, a 
mile away, is a broad expanse of field and hill. Above and 
far off the stream breaks through the wide-spread gap in the 
blue hills of the Kittatinny Mountain range. Below is a 
large island, with two bridges crossing the river, to carry the 
wagon -road and railroad over, the newest of them a wooden 
structure built on stone piers that present their shelving ice- 
breakers towards you. Senator Don Cameron certainly has 
a grand view to look out upon, and his neighbors, as we con- 
tinue the promenade down towards the bridges, live in com- 
fortable dwellings, particularly the Governor, whose mansion 
is two large three-story brick houses thrown into one, with a 
small white balcony in front and creeping vines running up 
to it. The vestibule glasses have patriotic emblems upon 
them, and the genial Governor has the luxury not vouch- 
safed to many mortals of two front doors to his house. Along 
this border street, in their comfortable dwellings, live the 
Harrisburg nabobs, and in their gardens some of them show 
a decided taste for putting bright red paint on the flower-pots, 
which adds variety to the scene. 

Like most of the interior towns of Pennsylvania, Harris- 
burg has its central market square, Second Street being 
widened for this purpose at the Market Street intersection. 
But separately from the Capitol and the State buildings and 
Dauphin County offices, which make it a political centre, 
Harrisburg has little else to attract. The Pennsylvania Piail- 
road and its branches make it, however, a great railroad town, 



178 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and this, with the iron-mills, adds vigor and bustle along the 
routes of these great lines. The hills rise high behind the 
city, and there are fine buildings up on their sides, particu- 
larly the Lunatic Asylum, in the northern suburbs. Harris- 
burg has many good schools and enough churches — there are 
fifteen, I am told — to accommodate the Legislature as well as 
the population. Harrisburg is loyal to old John Harris, too, 
for they still preserve with scrupulous care the ancient 
stump of a tree, at the foot of which he is buried, down on 
the river-bank, alongside the railway bridge, to which in the 
early part of the last century (1718 or 1719), some drunken 
Indians tied him to be tortured and burnt, but friendly In- 
dians from the opposite shore saved him. This old stunip is 
carefully enclosed by a railing in the little Harris Park. But the 
successors of his son, the younger John Harris, who, one hun- 
dred and thirty years ago, had his ferry here, and gave the town 
its name, do not like to hear it rashly suggested by the stranger 
that the Legislature may some time move to Philadelphia. 



XXIV. 

THE READING RAILEOAD. 
THE LEBANON VALLEY. 

Having come to Harrisburg by the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road, let us go back to Philadelphia by the other route over 
the lines of the Heading Railroad. The Harrisburg stations 
are alongside each other, and in former days, before the 
Pennsylvania road acquired possession of the New Jersey 
lines, the route through the Lebanon Valley was known as 
the " Allentown Line," and carried much of the travel be- 
tween New York and the West. This railroad curves around 
over an iron bridge across the canal, and at once leaves the 
Susquehanna, taking us through the fine farming-land of 
Dauphin County, with splendid fields and buildings in all 
directions, and the blue tops of the Kittatinny range just 
visible to the northward. The railway crosses the Swatara 
River and the Union Canal, both bending around with a 



THE READING RAILROAD. 179 

border of woodland, and then coming back again until the 
water almost touches the base of the railway embankment at 
Hummelstown, an old wooden bridge crossing the river in 
front of the station. But the Swatara soon leaves us, for it 
comes down towards the Susquehanna through a break in 
the range far off to the north. Red paint is evidently cheap 
in the Lebanon Valley, for all the farm buildings and many 
of the houses are painted in cardinal. The railway stations 
are numerous, but not artistic, and the train runs into a Grcr- 
man-speaking region, which in turn gradually resolves into 
the Pennsylvania-German dialect. Notwithstanding these 
Teuton characteristics, however, the train runs into Lebanon 
County, in Londonderry township, and Derry itself is the 
last station on the Dauphin County side. Both were origi- 
nally settled and named by the Scotch-Irish. The mothers 
bring their babies into the cars in red calico dresses, trimmed 
with yellow, so as to make a striking appearance, and, what- 
ever their nationality, they seem to be blessed in this prolific 
land with large families of small children. At Derry, near 
the railway, is the old weather-beaten but now abandoned 
log church, built one hundred and fifty years ago. 

The Lebanon Valley is a fertile region between the Kitta- 
tinny Mountain on the northwest and the South Mountain 
on the southeast, and is a broad and almost level valley, with- 
out striking scenery, beyond the fertility of the soil, and the 
gentle rolling ground sloping down to the winding brooks 
that occasionally dart under the railway. There are frequent 
villages, each with its little church and graveyard. Approach- 
ing the town of Lebanon huge iron-works are seen, with im- 
mense outlying deposits of slag and cinders ; for this is one 
of the richest iron regions of the State, the Cornwall ore- 
banks, about seven miles southward, to which a branch rail- 
v/ay runs, being three large hills composed almost entirely of 
iron-ore. These hills are the great metallic curiosities of 
Pennsylvania, and have been mined for nearly a century and 
a half. The ore is dug from the surface as easily as garden- 
soil, and hauled to the furnaces, where it produces fifty per 
cent, of pure iron. The deposit, covering about a hundred 
acres, seems almost exhaustless. 

The Quitopahilla Creek, a stream that is hardly as big as 
its name, is at Lebanon, which covers a broad plateau, its 



180 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

large factories and mills being interspersed among its houses, 
with plenty of foliage to relieve the eye. Northwest of Leb- 
anon is the old " Hill Church," built by the Germans in 1733. 
Here, among the masses of cars, were seen many for far-off 
lines, — new ones for the Missouri, Kansas and Texas road, 
away out on the Southwestern frontier, and others belonging 
to the " Bay City Wooden-Ware Line," of Michigan, evi- 
dently a flourishing concern. Leaving the county-seat, the 
approach to Myerstown, from the westward, is quite pretty, 
the town, as first seen off to the northward, spreading down 
to the railway. A rather dilapidated windmill is near the 
station, that has evidently seen its be'st days. The broad view 
across the valley on both sides of us is closed by the distant 
mountain range on either hand, the Kittatinny running off 
towards the northeast away from us, while the South Moun- 
tain steadily approaches as if trying to cross our path. The 
thrifty village of Richland discloses plenty of comfortable 
brick dweUings, with good farms spread out on all sides. As 
we steadily approach the South Mountain, the country be- 
comes more and more rolling and irregular, and the railway 
crosses the boundary between Lebanon and Berks Counties. 
Trees cover all the mountain-side excepting where the rocks 
are too steep to hold their roots. A bend in the ridge gives 
the railway opportunity to pass out of the Lebanon Valley 
and leave the far northward Kittatinny range behind. Pass- 
ing Womelsdorf, at the base of the mountain, we cross the 
watershed dividing the tributaries of the Susquehanna from 
those of the Schuylkill, and enter the region that the Grerman 
settlers have not inappropriately named Heidelberg, for like 
old Heidelberg, on the Neckar, it stands at the edge of wooded 
hills, and the forest entrance from a plain, though it has only 
a little brook, and not a river flowing past it out of the forest. 
Frequent blast-furnaces give evidence of the iron deposits 
underlying this entire region. 

READING. 

Still skirting along the base of the hills as we approach 
Reading, the cars fill up with people bound thither. The 
brick church and its spire at Wernersville stand up promi- 
nently, on a hill-top, and the white-steepled church at Sinking 
Spring rules a fine village, the farm-land around showing well 



THE READING RAILROAD. 181 

for the thrift of the Berks County farmer. All the barns in 
this section have cisterns underneath, collecting the rain that 
falls on the roof, to secure a supply of water in time of 
drouth. Thus we wind about among the hills approaching 
Reading, and suddenly cross the Schuylkill River bending 
grandly around from the northward, with a long narrow 
island also bending with the narrow stream, and in an instant 
are running among the huge iron-works outside the to^vn. 
There, in front of us, set in the valley at the foot of Penn's 
Mount, is Reading. Passing through deep rock-cuttings, the 
train goes quickly into town, and curving around, is at the 
station, where the railway runs into the main line of the 
Reading Railroad. This station is a very fine one, and reflects 
credit on the designer, especially for the little green lawn in 
the centre, where the fountain plashes. On three sides the 
railways sweep around it, makiug concave fronts, while the 
main building and offices are much better than those of any 
of the Reading stations in Philadelphia. Reading, like all 
these towns, has its central market place, on which and the 
adjacent streets the chief buildings are located. The old red 
sandstone gives its fine Court-House the ornamental columns 
for an elaborate portico, while its castellated red sandstone 
jail stands in a commanding position on Penn's Mount. 
This mountain also furnishes iron for the mills, of which the 
town has a large number. But Reading's chief allegiance is 
to the Reading Railroad, whose shops are here, and this great 
corporation directly or indirectly supports a large part of the 
population. All day the long coal-trains roll down through 
the town from the anthracite region beyond, on their way to 
market, and the G-ermans come in from Berks County on all 
sides to sell their produce and do shopping. The Tulpehockcn 
Creek flows into the Schuylkill near Reading, and the towns- 
folk, when they die, are carried to the red freestone Gothic 
chapel and through the red sandstone gateway in the northern 
suburbs, that leads to Charles Evans' Cemetery, established 
by the gift of a prominent citizen. 

THE SCHUYLKILL VALLEY. 

At Reading begins a view of one of the most delicious bits 
of river scenery in America, — the Schuylkill Valley, — along 
which the railway winds for fifty-eight miles down to Phila- 

IG 



182 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

delpliia, first on one side and then on the other ; for railway- 
builders know the value of a running stream for giving an 
easy route through a hilly region. At Reading the Schuyl- 
kill breaks through the South Mountain range, and flows 
placidly by Penn's Mount and the Neversink, which rear their 
wooded heads far above it. The railroad leaves the station 
and runs out through the town and its factories towards the 
river-bank, the long mountain on the left hand closing up the 
valley on that side. We pass the railway-shops, then out 
over the lower ground beyond, with the town spreading to the 
northward ; then, after sundry bends, the line seeks the river- 
bank and runs along the base of the mountain, with the 
Schuylkill on the right hand far beneath us, a narrow stream, 
barely one-fourth its width at Philadelphia, with a little room, 
at the foot of the hills, to spare for the canal on the other 
side. The river twists and turns, now coming near us, now 
far away, giving magnificent views as it makes its long reaches. 
There are frequent dams, made for the canal company, with 
locks alongside, and the water runs a torrent down their little 
slopes. All along we go side by side — rail, river, and canal — 
between high forest- covered hills, the gorge occasionally 
broadening into a narrow valley, with rich fields at the bot- 
tom. In English style, our train keeps on the left-hand track 
of the double line, and we run again into the region of the 
dark red soils, made by the old red sandstone. At Birdsboro' 
where a branch comes in, across the stream from Wilmington, 
there are more big iron-mills, and below here the line for a 
long distance has its route hewn out of the rocks, standing 
high up on the left hand. From these rocks is quarried 
building material for all this section, and the reddish stone 
also ornaments buildings in Philadelphia, being a not inappro- 
priate trimming for its darker brother, the New Jersey brown- 
stone. Little islands are in the river, and a bold knob of a 
hill stands up to the northeast as we run across a piece of 
level ground. The Reading Company has rather sad-looking 
stations at some of the villages along the Schuylkill, but they 
are in hopes of better times and consequently finer houses 
hereafter. We cross the line between Berks and Montgomer}'' 
Counties, but still continue in the land of the Pennsylvania- 
Germans. 

Well-cultivated land and thrifty farm-houses cover the 



THE READING RAILROAD, 183 

region around Pottstown, and the railway for some distance 
runs along the edge of the turnpike, which looks like a road- 
way covered with chocolate. Crossing the Manatawny Creek 
just below a pretty little waterfall, we run into the station, 
forty miles from Philadelphia. A large part of the inhab- 
itants have come down to see the cars go by, and nearly all 
the young men stand on the depot steps with their hands in 
their pockets, in true American style, though the afternoon 
is so hot that the mercury is mounting towards 100°, and the 
sun broils down on their heads. The town is extensive, with 
large manufacturing establishments and an evidently prosper- 
ous population. At Limerick the Schuylkill curves around 
almost in the form of a loop, and the people generally talk 
German, though the town has not exactly that sort of a name. 
Again hugging the river closely, we run by Koyer's Ford, 
with its chocolate-colored roads leading up the steep hill to an 
extensive village away above us, while more iron-mills line 
the river-bank. Below Mingo the high ridge known as Black 
Rock is approached, around which the river grandly sweeps. 
The railway turns southward and goes across the Schuylkill 
on a stone bridge, and the train, running directly at the face 
of the rock, darts into a tunnel and all is darkness. This is 
the most extensive tunnel near Philadelphia, and, emerging 
on the southern side of the hill, we find ourselves on the 
western bank of the river with the canal running closely under 
the car- windows, as we come into Phoenixville. Here are 
the great Phoenix Iron- Works, where the Girard Avenue and 
many other fine bridges were built, and yet an old wooden 
bridge spans the Schuylkill to connect the two parts of the 
town. Car-loads of coal and iron-ore stand on the sidings, 
much of the ore looking as if imported from abroad. The 
land below Phoenixville is almost level, for here subsidiary 
valleys come in, the Pickering Valley on one side, and the 
Perkiomen on the other, and the grazing cattle show that we 
are back again in the dairy region. When it receives the 
Perkiomen, its most important tributary, the Schuylkill makes 
a sharp bend southward, and the railroad curves around with 
it ; then both curve again to the eastward, for thus we wind 
through the hills among which we are again running. The 
latter bend is almost a right angle at Valley Forge, from 
which there is a splendid view both ways, showing that our 



184 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

forefathers had an eye for beauty when they selected the 
ground for their famous Revolutionary camp, on the hills 
bordering the deep, rugged hollow at the mouth of Valley 
Creek. 

THE GREAT SCHUYLKILL FACTORIES. 

We are approaching now the great manufacturing region 
of the Schuylkill Valley. Along we go, now near enough 
to jump from the cars into the river, now darting through a 
rough rock-cutting as the bank leaves us at some irregular 
bend. Great ice-houses are set up along the shore, stored 
with the product that is cooling Philadelphia, and we cross a 
stretch of rich and level land in Upper Merion. We have 
entered Montgomery County, and across the Schuylkill, built 
on what was in old times John Bull's farm, is the thriving 
town of Norristown, its ornate Court- House steeple standing 
up well above the houses, while the river-front is fringed with 
mills and glass-factories. There the first canal was dug in 
the United States, and here also enters the Chester Valley 
Railroad, which has come across from Downingtown, and now 
the Schuylkill presents on both sides an almost constant suc- 
cession of iron-mills and blast-furnaces, gradually changing 
as Manayunk is approached into other industrial establish- 
ments, some of immense size. A grand procession of chim- 
neys passes in review as we run down by Swedeland, Consho- 
hocken, and Spring Mill, with intervening limekilns to make 
the flux for the blast-furnaces. Railways run on both sides 
of the river, each, judging by the quickly-passing trains, 
having as much trafiic as it can well manage. There is an 
almost unbroken succession of villages built up around and 
on the hills behind these works. Although the iron season 
is about over, and there are a great many dead chimneys, the 
river-banks still present a busy scene. We cross Mill Creek, 
and then the great works at Manayunk pass in review, while 
on the hill-sides above are many pretty houses. The Flat 
Rock tunnel for a moment interrupts the sight, and then we 
renew the study of the great paper-mills and wood-pulp-works, 
and cotton- and woollen-factories on the opposite slope, all built 
so low down that it is no wonder freshets invade their lower 
stories. Manayunk gets its name from one of the Indian 
names of the Schuylkill River — Manaiyunk. We pass along- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 185 

side the Pencoyd Works, with acres of iron lying around, and 
along comes one of the little Fairmount steamers, stopping 
an instant at the entrance to the Wissahickon gorge, spanned 
by the old wooden bridge that carries the Norristown trains 
over. We run by the Falls village, the town and factories 
being over on the opposite bank, and then we separate from 
the Port Richmond Branch Railroad, which goes to the east- 
ward over the stone bridge and passes back of Laurel Hill to 
seek the Delaware River. The white monuments of the 
cemetery stand up brightly in the sunlight, and on both sides 
of the river carriages glide along the smooth Park roads. 
The train runs behind Tom Moore's cottage and the Park 
offices, and makes a grand sweep around as it enters the Co- 
lumbia bridge, with the Centennial buildings in full sight 
below on the right bank. Crossing the Schuylkill we go 
down the eastern shore, the river having greatly widened 
compared with its size where the journey began, at Reading. 
Then crossing the East Park road, with the flagman holding 
a string of carriages in check, we leave the river and pass the 
rows of big breweries with their great empty beer-tanks out- 
side, and follow Pennsylvania Avenue down past Fairmount 
to the Broad Street station. Thus ends an afternoon's ride 
through the beautiful Schuylkill Valley. 



XXV. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILEOAD. 
A RAILWAY RETROSPECT. 

In the first number of the PuhUc Ledger, issued March 
25, 1836, the following advertisement appeared, which told 
how the people travelled from Philadelphia to Pittsburg 
forty-five years ago : 

PEOPLE'S LINE OF CARS AND STAGES START 
lTI '"'ll every morning at half-past 8 o'clock, from the corner of 
Broad and Arch streets, and Third Street Hall, for Dowu- 
,.^.^___^ ingtown, Lancaster, and Pittsburg. Through m 23^ days. 
Apply for seats at Farmers' Inn, '218 Market street, and at Third Street Hall; 
also, at the Depot, corner of Broad and Arch streets. 

16* 



186 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

In the same paper the editor made a notice of the business 
on these Pittsburg stage lines, which I quote : 

" Travellbig — There are four daily lines of stages between riiiladelpliia and Pitts- 
burg, yet is theie so niucli travel betMeen the two pbaes, tliat the names of passen- 
gers have to be booked from one to two weeks in advance to secure seats." 

The Pittsburg stages, with the Columbia Railroad, per- 
formed the journey in sixty hours, while the " Grood Intent 
Stage Company," which advertised a line to Wheeling in the 
sam« number of the Ledger^ promised to make that journey 
in fifty hours by way of York, Gettysburg, Chambersburg, 
Bedford, and Washington. When the season was a little later 
and the ice was gone, the Pittsburg journey was made by the 
Pennsylvania canals, then recently completed, and regarded 
as marvels in their day. Leech & Co. thus advertised this 
route, then just opening at the beginning of the season, when 
the first Ledger was printed : 

LEECH & CO.'S LINE FOR THE CONVEYANCE OF PASSEN- 
gers from Philadelphia to Pittsburg, via rail road and canal pack- 
^ets. The cars on the rail road are all new and in good order. 
'The packet boats have their cabins lengthened, and fitted up 
entirely new with every necessary convenience. 

The line will go into operation as soon as the canal is navigable. From the 
Eupeiior style in which the cabins on board the packet boats have been furnished, 
the proprietoi s flatter themselves that they will receive a continuance of the patron- 
age heretofore so libeially bestowed. 
Office removed to 51 Chestnut street, above Second. JOHN CAMERON, Agent. 

When the traveller now goes in a half-day from Philadel- 
phia to Pittsburg, with enough time to spare for comfortable 
meals at Harrisburg and Altoona and a luxurious coach to 
travel in, he will be inclined to smile at the tediousness of the 
journey in 1836. Mr. David Stephenson, the English engi- 
neer, who took this journey over the Pennsylvania State 
works in that year, wrote that he travelled the entire distance 
from Philadelphia to Pittsburg, three hundred and ninety- 
five miles, in ninety-one hours, an average rate of about four 
and one-third miles per hour, at a cost of three pounds ster- 
ling, or about four cents per mile, and that one hundred and 
eighteen miles of the journey, which he calls " extraordinary," 
were performed on railroads, and two hundred and seventy- 
seven miles on canals. This line was operated for nearly 
twenty years, and was a main route of travel between the sea- 
board and the West. The State of Pennsylvania expended 
two millions a year for a long period on the construction of 



THE PENXSVLVAyiA RAILROAD. 187 

these works, and to pay for and maintain them rolled up the 
heavy State debt we have been for a good while past paying off. 
The construction of the Baltimore and Ohio Kailroad began 
in 1828. and the commercial strides made by New York 
through the completion of the Erie Canal were the spurs that 
excited Pennsylvania energy in the same direction, and the 
State works were completed and put in operation about 1834. 
They consisted of the double-track Columbia Kailroad, here- 
tofore referred to ; the canal from Columbia on the Susque- 
hanna to Hollidaysburg at the eastern foot of the mountain ; 
the Portage Railroad over the Alleghenies from Hollidays- 
burg to Johnstown, and the canal again from Johnstown 
down the Conemaugh and Allegheny Rivers to Pittsburg. 
The Columbia Railroad is still used, but how vastly improved ! 
The Portage Railroad and the canal route west of the moun- 
tains are abandoned. This line was the forerunner of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad. The transfer of freight was made at 
first from car to boat, and back to car again, but subsequently 
the plan was successfully devised of making canal-boats in 
sections, and carrying them on car-trucks. These sectional 
boats were hauled down Market and Third and Dock Streets 
to the wharf by mule teams, twenty-five years ago. The 
Eastern Division of the Pennsylvania Canal began at Colum- 
bia, where the first transfer was made, and was constructed 
one hundred and seventy-two miles along the Susquehanna 
and Juniata Rivers to Hollidaysburg, then a great place, but 
now only the shadow of a town, as its trade has gone else- 
where. This canal had thirty-three aqueducts and one hun- 
dred and eleven locks, and rose in its western progress five 
hundred and eighty-five feet above the level at Columbia. 



THE ALLEGHENY PORTAGE RAILROAD. 

The timbered sides of the Allegheny Mountain, about three 
thousand feet high at its highest point, were encountered at 
HoIlida3'sburg, and were surmounted by the ingenious device 
of the Portage Railroad, which was constructed thirty six miles 
over the mountain to Johnstown. It cost one million eight 
hundred and sixty thousand dollars, was two years building, 
being completed in November, 1833, and had a second line 
of rails laid down in 1835. It crossed at Blair's Gap, two 



188 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

thousand three hundred and twenty-six feet above the sea- 
level, and consisted of a series of inclined planes, and a tun- 
nel nine hundred feet long at the summit. It was a costly 
and difficult work, consisting almost entirely of side-cuttings 
and embankments supported on heavy walls, sometimes one 
hundred feet high, there being four bridges, one crossing the 
Conemaugh River seventy feet above the stream, and most of 
the line being boldly laid out skirting the edges of precipices. 
There were ten inclined planes, five on each side of the moun- 
tain, each making a rise varying from one hundred and thirty 
feet in the smallest to three hundred and seven feet in the 
largest. These planes overcame a total height of two thou- 
sand and seven feet, while the entire rise and fall of the road 
was two thousand five hundred and seventy-one feet, the re- 
mainder being provided for by gradients on the ordinary line. 
The steepest face of the mountain is towards the eastward, 
and, consequently, the railway from Hollidaysburg to the 
Summit, though only ten miles long, overcame a height of 
thirteen hundred and ninety-eight feet, while on the other 
side, in a distance of twenty miles, the height was but eleven 
hundred and seventy-two feet. The gradient.of these planes 
varied from one in ten to one in fourteen, and the longest 
plane measured about three-fifths of a mile. Each plane 
was worked by a pair of thirty horse-power engines, draw- 
ing an eight-inch cable, though but one engine was used 
at a time, the other being an extra in case of accident. 
A descending and an ascending train were attached to the 
rope at the same time, one going down, the other up, on 
the double track, and three loaded cars, each carrying three 
tons, were considered a load for a single draft. They were 
able to take twenty-four cars with seventy-two tons of freight 
over an inclined plane in one hour, which was ample for the 
trade then passing on the line, for the average traffic was not 
in those days over one hundred cars a day. This method of 
transit over the mountain, though considered marvellous then, 
was slow ; for in his account Mr. Stephenson said that in 
going over the Portage he started from Hollidaysburg at nine 
in the morning, reached the summit at noon, stopped there 
an hour, and, resuming the journey, was at Johnstown at five 
in the afternoon. Seven hours of actual time were thus occu- 
pied in going thirty- six miles, though the speed was higher 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 189 

than the average of the whole journey, the canal navigation 
being slower. 

The Western Division of the Pennsylvania Canal began 
at Johnstown, and extended through the valleys of the Con- 
emaugh and Allegheny Rivers to Pittsburg, one hundred and 
five miles. It had sixty-four locks, a tunnel one thousand feet 
long, and went over sixteen aqueducts, the broken bridges and 
ruined locks of this abandoned canal being still seen as relics of 
the past out of the car- windows as we now glide swiftly by on 
the railroad. These public works, with the New Portage road, 
never put into practical operation, cost the State of Pennsyl- 
vania nearly eighteen millions of money to build. Although 
used for twenty years, as above stated, they had scarcely gone 
into operation when an agitation began for making a railway 
over the entire route between Philadelphia and Pittsburg. 
Charters for this purpose were granted in 1837, but for some 
years remained a dead letter. Surveys were afterwards made 
and public meetings held, but nothing was actually done until 
the Pennsylvania Railroad was chartered, in 1846, with ten 
millions capital. In 1847-48 the great work was given its 
actual start by contributions from the city of Philadelphia, 
amounting to the magnificent sum, for that period, of about 
four millions. In the summer of 1847 work began at both 
ends of the line, contracts being let for the construction of 
sections leading twenty miles west from Ilarrisburg and fif- 
teen east from Pittsburg. In the autumn of 1849 the first 
division, sixty-one miles long, from Ilarrisburg to Lewistown, 
was opened for business, and, in 1850, the line was completed 
to the junction with the Portage Railroad, at Hollidaysburg. 
In August, 1851, the road was built twenty-one miles west 
of Johnstown, leaving only twenty-eight miles unfinished to 
make a junction with the builders working eastward from 
Pittsburg. On December 10, 1852, the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road, in conjunction with the State works, was completed, 
and through trains, all rail, began running between Philadel- 
phia and Pittsburg by way of the Portage Railroad. In 
February, 1854, the Pennsylvania Railroad completed its 
own line over the mountain, and the Portage Road was sub- 
sequently abandoned. In 1857 the Pennsylvania Company 
bought all the State works, and then began the system of 
improvements steadily pursued since, which has made the 



190 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

present magnificent work, leading from New York, Philadel- 
phia, Baltimore, and Washington in the East, to Chicago, St. 
Louis, Cairo, Cincinnati, Louisville, Erie, Toledo, and Cleve- 
land on the Lakes and in the West, a system controlling 
nearly nine thousand miles of main lines and branches. 

THE ORIGINAL PENNSYLVANIA RAILWAY. 

Having made our retrospect of the early history of the 
routes of travel across the mountains which culminated in 
the Pennsylvania Railroad, let us begin a journey over the 
original work of that great company, the present railway 
west of Harrisburg. We leave the station where they have 
made into one the train from Philadelphia and the train from 
Washington, and start northward through the town and out 
towards the Susquehanna River bank. We run past shops 
and round-house and through the great yard where they make 
up the freight-trains for the middle division of the railway ; 
gradually glide out of town and approach the gap through 
the mountains, which is the most striking object in the grand 
scenery given by a view up the river from Harrisburg. It 
is the Kittatinny range, or the " Endless Chain of Hills," 
as the Indians who tried to roast old John Harris called it. 
The Susquehanna River comes through this gap, which looks 
like a notch purposely cut in the dark green mountain range, 
and beyond it can be seen through the opening the distant 
ranges of mountains farther up the river. A strip of green 
fields and ftirm-land is between us and the water, but it soon 
narrows as we approach the gap, and at Rockville, five miles 
above Harrisburg, the railway curves grandly around and 
runs over the great bridge across the river. This bridge is 
about three thousand seven hundred feet long, and we run 
upon the top of the iron truss which stands upon stone piers 
built diagonally to meet the current of the stream. The 
Susquehanna is full of little grass-covered islands, and is 
strewn with rocks of all sizes. As we go over the bridge 
the pebbly bottom can be seen as the clear but shallow water 
runs over it, and you realize what a difficult task it would be 
to make this river navigable. Yet, seventy years ago they 
got excited about it and actually planned for the opening of 
navigation from the mouth up to about where this bridge is 
at a cost of three millions of dollars. Uncle Sam was to furnish 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 191 

the money, but the war of 1812 coming on he had to invest 
too much in gunpowder and dynamite torpedoes, with which 
to fight John Bull, to be able to spare any cash to pull the 
rocks and snags out of the Susquehanna. The project haa 
not since been seriously revived for this part of the stream, 
as the railways now till all the necessities for transportation. 
There are magnificent views from the bridge, both up and 
down the river. Through the gap, and beyond its rock- 
strewn channel, is seen the bridge which carries the North- 
ern Central Railway across the river to the eastern bank. 
To the southward are the islands and f\irms of Dauphin 
County, with Harrisburg beyond, and behind it the blue 
hills of Cumberland and York. 

We roll smoothly over the great bridge without a tremor 
apparent in its ponderous frame-work, and, reaching the 
western bank, curve around to the northward again, the 
Northern Central Railway, which comes up on that side 
from Baltimore and York, now keeping us close company. 
The line runs northwestward along the edge of the water at 
the foot of the mountains, with the great protruding knob 
of the dark green Kittatinny Mountain rising boldly on the 
other side. Entering the narrow gap between Marysville 
and Dauphin, two pleasant villages standing on either bank, 
a warning sign to ''stop" makes our engineer slacken speed, 
and the Northern Central Railway passes away from us across 
the bridge uniting the two villages. It is a single-track bridge, 
enclosed" with wooden sides, that would not be the worse for 
a coat of fresh paint. The dark stone ice-breakers of the 
bridge- piers stand up amid the myriads of rocks sown so 
thickly on the river-bed. Over on the opposite shore are 
the pleasant little houses of the village of Dauphin, with 
a background of distant hills. Having passed the gap 
the river makes a right-angled bend to the westward, and 
the railway sweeps around with it. Frequent east-bound 
freight-trains pass us, laden with cattle, corn, coal, and oil. 
The river as we glide along its bank is low, and seems almost 
covered with islands, bearing a plentiful crop of green grass. 
. We are now in Perry County, and cross over Fishing Creek at 
Marysville, which comes down from the Kittatinny Mountain 
side. It is a land of iron-mines, early found out by the 
sturdy race of Scotch-Irish, who first peopled this region, 



192 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

and for a half-century battled with the Indians for mastery. 
We run swiftly up the bank to the town of Duncannon, 
with its great iron-mills. This is at the entrance to Shear- 
man's Valley, and the Shearman Creek flows placidly under 
the railway into the Susquehanna. 

DUNCANNON AND DUNCAN's ISLAND. 

This valley, at the foot of which stands Duncan non, forms 
the chief part of Perry County, which lies between the Kit- 
tatinny and Tuscarora Mountains, the latter enclosing its 
northwestern border. Shearman, who gave his name to the 
creek and the valley, was an early trader among the Indians, 
and lost his life while fording the creek. The settlements 
here were not the earliest in the county, for some distance 
farther up, at Buffalo Creek, settlers had been as early as 
1741, but, the Indians complaining, the Provincial Govern- 
ment removed them. The white settlers came into Shear- 
man's Valley in 1755, but the constant Indian fights subse- 
quently made it a ground of bloodshed and massacre for 
many years. Duncannon is the largest town in Perry County, 
and is the old-time Petersburg, the original name (still the 
name of the post-ofiice) having been changed not long ago. 
The Little Juniata Creek flows into the river here, and away 
up above it, on the mountain-side, is the Profile Rock, which 
long gazing at has made to assume something of the resem- 
blance of a human face. Passing out of the town, and still 
moving on the river-bank, we soon come to the mouth of the 
Juniata River. There are a couple of big islands across the 
river as we run in and out along the shore, — Duncan's Island 
with Haldeman's Island beyond. On Duncan's Island (from 
which is derived the name of Duncannon) was the original 
place of assemblage of the Indian tribes of all this region. 
It contained a large Indian town, and the red men came there 
from the Susquehanna and Juniata Valleys in the last cen- 
tury to hold their political conventions, for even in that early 
day there was wire-pulling along the Susquehanna. The 
Indian orators, dressed in bearskins and wearing exaggerated 
masks, then excited the multitude at Duncan's Island, as 
their successors try to do now a little farther down the river, 
and it is recorded that even in that early day there was an 
astonishing love for politics and whisky developed along the 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 193 

great river. Subsequently the whites attempted settlement, 
and protracted skirmishes and massacres resulted. Once a 
woman with her infant swam the swollen Susquehanna on 
horseback, and escaped torture and death at the hands of the 
savages. As we run along the bank and look over at the 
peaceful island of to-day, where parties go for summer pleas- 
uring, the fierce scenes of by-gone days can scarcely be real- 
ized. Everything is thickly covered with foliage, and a big 
lump of a mountain stands up beyond the island as we curve 
in and out along the sinuosities of the river-bank. There 
are cabbage- and corn-patches and forests of bean-poles stand- 
ing up inthe gardens as we rush by the little houses, north 
of'' Duncannon. We cross some flat land, as the railway 
courses northward, and can see the gap in the Tuscarora 
Mountain ahead of us, through which the Juniata flows. 
The canal comes across the Susquehanna above a dam, with 
a bridge to bring the towpath over. Then it traverses Dun- 
can's Island, directly through the great Indian mound an(i 
burial-place, an unfailing source of relic-finding. Soon we 
are travelling westward together, railway and canal, along the 
Juniata. 



XXVI. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA EAILEOAD. 

THE BLUE JUNIATA. 

Let us take a journey along the beautiful river, — renowned 
in song and story,— the " Blue Juniata." It runs for a hun- 
dred miles from the eastern face of the Allegheny Moun- 
tain, breaking through range after range, and presenting a 
series of superb landscapes and mountain views that are un- 
excelled on the Atlantic seaboard. Its secluded glens and 
magnificent valleys, its massive mountains and ever-changing 
variety of views are a constant study for the traveller until 
he is almost dazed by the apparently endless panorama. ^ Along 
this river the engineers have carried the Pennsylvania Rail- 
road up into the mountains, and among its transcendent bcau- 
I n 17 



194 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

ties let us take a rapid railway ride, ever remembering that 
no pen can adequately describe the succession of magnificent 
views of mountain scenery that move in front of the car- 
windows. 

As we glide swiftly along the Juniata, towards the gap 
through the Tuscarora Mountain range, the Susquehanna, 
coming from the northeastward, gradually leaves us, its green 
hills turning blue, and then fading away, until a bend in the 
road obscures them from sight. The canal, which has come 
across Duncan's Island, is carried over the Juniata on the 
wooden structure known as the aqueduct, eighteen miles 
above Harrisburg, and then proceeds up the river on the 
same side as the railroad. We quickly approach the Tusca- 
rora gap, the dark blue hills ahead separating just enough to 
let the river pass through. The farmers are harvesting their 
wheat in the fields at the bottom of the valley, while the 
corn seems stunted, compared with that near Philadelphia, as 
this region is backward. We soon enter the gorge, and the 
great hills stand up on either hand, tree-clad, and giving, as 
the fleecy clouds wrap their summits, the bluish purple tinge 
that reminds some of our fellow-tourists of the famous hills 
of Scotland. The pass is narrow ; the canal runs closely under 
the car-windows, and the placid river is just beyond, upon a 
lower level, while a vast expanse of forest spreads over the 
hill-sides. Occasionally the valley broadens, giving a chance 
for a little more agriculture. Rafts float along the canal, the 
logs being gathered in long and narrow combination, with 
the crew in a little ark at one end. We rush by iron-fur- 
naces with their outlying stocks of pig-iron and ore and slag- 
heaps, and then pass Newport and cross the picturesque 
Buffalo Creek, the place of earliest settlement in this region. 
The pebbly bottom of the creek can be seen through the clear 
water as we swiftly cross the bridge. Seventy years ago the 
entire settlement here consisted of four log houses. Above 
Newport the canal is transferred to the opposite bank, a rope 
ferry set up on wheels elevated on piers taking the boats 
over, while the mules are placed upon the boat, and for once 
in their lives are towed instead of towing. Just above, at 
Millerstown, there is a wagon-bridge across the river of which 
one-half has been carried away by storm or freshet and the 
other half is still standing. They are not in a hurry, evi- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 195 

dently, to restore it, for it has continued some time in tliis 
plight. This phice, which is a popuhir summer resort, is said 
to be the oldest town, excepting Huntingdon, on the Juniata 
Kiver, and was laid out in 1780. As we glide along, ridge 
after ridge of high hills rises up, — one being no sooner passed 
than another comes in review. Their lowest parts have been 
cleared for cultivation, but the tops are still covered with 
trees. Wherever the valley broadens the lowlands are availed 
of for crops, and every year increases the amount of cleared 
ground, but in most places the settlements are sparse. Thus 
we enter Juniata County over the ancient hunting-grounds 
of the Tuscarora Indians, and pass through its beautiful 
scenery as we glide along between the Tuscarora and Turkey 
Mountains, the latter rising on the northern bank of the 
river. We approach Mifflin and can see the dark blue moun- 
tain ridge ahead of us, through which the river forces a pas- 
sage from Lewistown. At Perry ville we cross the muddy 
waters of the Tuscarora Creek, coming down through one of 
the chief valleys of Juniata County, and at Mexico was made 
the first settlement in this region, as early as 1751, but the 
Indians drove the settlers away. Beyond this, the valley 
broadens, giving room for more farm-land, and as we curve 
in and out along the stream there are fine views on the long 
reaches, while occasionally a fish jumps out of the water, 
giving a flashing view as you pass, and then quickly disap- 
pearing. The Tuscarora Valley over which we are riding 
was a land of Indian massacres, and here occurred the " grass- 
hopper war" between the Tuscaroras and Delawares. They 
had villages opposite each other on the banks of the river, 
and one day the children got into a dispute about some grass- 
hoppers. The women espoused the cause of the children ; 
this drew in the men, and a bloody conflict followed. 

LEWISTOWN NARROWS AND LOGAN. 

We halt a moment at Mifflin, built on the hill-side, forty- 
nine miles from Harrisburg, while the train-hands '' tap the 
rim." They have an eye for the picturesque at this attrac- 
tive little town, for amid the turn-tables and railway-shops 
they have a pretty flower-bed with the initial letter •' M" 
worked out in variegated tints. John Harris laid out this 
town in 1791. Leaving the town we soon run among the 



196 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

higher hills, and the great ridge formed by the Shade and 
the Blue Mountains spreads across our path. The river 
makes a bend to the southwest and runs into the narrow pass 
between them. We rush along through the bottom of the 
gorge where there is just room enough for the canal and 
river, the railway route being mostly hewn out of the rocks. 
Along here, fifty-two years ago, passed the first packet-boat 
on the then newly-opened canal from Mifflin to Lewistown. 
We are in the far-famed Lewistown Narrows, where the river 
flows for a long distance between the high mountain-ridges, 
with the railway on one side and the canal on the other. At 
intervals, a depression gives magnificent views up a pretty 
glen, while the cloud-shadows move slowly across the dark 
green mountain-sides. We rush among the forests, broken 
stones covering the sides of the great peaks as if some one 
had dropped them there, and they were about to slide down 
into the river-bed below. We run through the narrow pass 
for a long distance, finally coming out on the western side 
of the mountain-ridges, which bend grandly around to the 
northwest to give us a passage-way. The hills become lower, 
and up in this region a venturesome farmer has a narrow 
strip of arable land on which he is just cutting his crop of 
wheat, while a little corn is also growing on the field. Beyond 
we pass over level ground giving a view across it of Lewis- 
town, nestling at the foot of another big mountain, its white 
steeples standing up above the red brick houses. 

We have come into Mifflin County, and stop at Lewistown, 
sixty-one miles from Harrisburg, long enough to see the 
aesthetic tastes displayed up here among the mountains in the 
pretty flower-gardens at the station, and to take a brief view 
of the stage which bears upon its side the phonetic legend 
" Chalfant's Buss Line." The people of Lewistown look out 
upon a pretty rural view on the opposite side of the river 
where parts of the hill-sides are cleared and cultivated, and 
the Juniata runs across the bottom of the beautiful Kishico- 
quillas Valley coming down from the northward. Here lived 
the famous Logan, chief of the Mingos, the most renowned 
Indian of Pennsylvania, whose speeches are to this day de- 
claimed by the schoolboy in probably much better English 
than ever Logan knew. He lived at Logan's Spring, in the 
valley, and supported his family by killing deer and selling 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 197 

their skins to the whites. But just before the Revokition 
the white settlers became so numerous that he left the valley 
and went westward to the Ohio River, near Wheeling. 
There, in 1775, his family was massacred, an event that 
caused a great stir, for Logan subsequently wreaked terrible 
vengeance upon the whites. He was afterwards killed near 
Detroit. In this Lewistown Valley, and having his cabin 
almost where Lewistown stands, also lived the Shawnee chief 
Kishicoquillas, always a friend of the white men, and whose 
name is preserved in the valley and the creek which here 
flows into the Juniata. Lewistown, where the Glamorgan 
Iron Company is located, dates from 1790, and its site, nest- 
ling among the mountains, is one of the most picturesque 
along the Juniata, of which the Narrows, below the town, 
is probably the grandest mountain-pass. It forces its way 
through them for ten miles, the peaks rising abruptly for 
over a thousand feet above the water, their dense forest-cov- 
ered sides giving the gorge an appearance of the deepest 
gloom. There are some great caves in the mountains around 
Lewistown, Haverall's, to the westward, being of vast dimen- 
sions. 

MANAYUNK AND JACK ARMSTRONG. 

We leave this beautiful region and the railway curves 
around to the southward, making almost a loop, and taking, 
as it were, the back track towards Harrisburg. It runs over 
the valley, crosses both the river and the canal, which here 
also bend southeastward, and then come back again, forming 
a double curve like the letter S. The railway then bends 
southwest and continues the journey for a short distance up 
the northern bank, when, the river again turning, the railway 
goes over once more to its original southern bank. Skilful 
engineering has been required to arrange these curves and 
bridges, but the train glides along swiftly and smoothly. 

The receding hills make a broad valley, covered with 
trees, among which we speed along towards another dark 
blue mountain- ridge far to the westward. The railway now 
runs southwest, between two distant mountain-ranges, an oc- 
casional spur coming out to the edge of the river, which the 
line closely follows. We pass McVeytown, set in the valley 
over beyond the river, and, beyond it, the station with the 

17* 



198 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

familiar name of Manayunk, but it lias no mills, and presents 
only a few scattered houses nestling among the high hills. 
Again we cross the Juniata, which makes a long sweep to the 
southward, and indulges in sundry gyrations of its course 
that the railway is not called upon to follow, though it does 
follow a good many of these crooks and bends along the 
Juniata's tortuous course. We run straight ahead across 
the comparatively level land, leaving the Shade and Black 
Log Mountains behind us, and having Jack's Mountain bar- 
ring the way in front. We go through sundry rock- cuttings, 
and then cross the neck of land beyond Newton Hamilton, 
where they have a most beautifully-located camp-meeting 
ground. Just above this village the river makes another 
horseshoe bend, across which the railway is built, going over 
the river at Mount Union on a bridge seventy feet above the 
water. We also cross the canal, and the canal then crosses 
the river by an aqueduct under which the river-current 
bubbles over the stones. Rushing through the village of 
Mount Union, with beautiful scenery, we dart apparently 
right at the face of Jack's Mountain, but the road quietly 
turning westward the gorge opens just wide enough to let us 
through. Here in the early colonial days, John Armstrong, 
an Indian trader, penetrated, and with his two servants was 
murdered by the savages. Hence the name of " Jack Arm- 
strong's Narrows" has been given the gorge, and a similar 
name to the mountain, but in these hurried days there is not 
time to give the whole name, so it is shortened to " Jack's 
Mountain" and " Jack's Narrows." We glide through the 
gorge, which is narrower than that below Lewistown ; and 
the high hills on either hand are covered with stones that 
look as if the least jar might bring them down in an ava- 
lanche. The Juniata becomes narrower and even shallower 
than below, and, with a grand sweep around to the north- 
ward, we turn with the gorge at Mapleton and run through 
the lower ridges beyond. Here are diiferent rock formations, 
some standing up almost straight, with white sections where 
the limestone has been quarried, that almost dazzle us as the 
sun shines upon them. Above Mapleton we cross to the 
north bank of the river again. This gorge is in Huntingdon 
County, and is one of the wildest regions along the river. 
The Broad Top Mountain is to the southward, with its semi- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 199 

bituminous coal-fields, and the East Broad Top Railroad 
comes into the main line at Mount Union, and the Hunting- 
don and Broad Top Railroad a little farther on, at Hunting- 
don. This is a prolific region for sand-quarrying for the 
glass manuficture at Pittsburg. We cross over Mill Creek, 
and get a view of the Sideling Hill and Terrace Mountain 
opposite the village there, with the singular formation be- 
tween them known as Trough Creek Valley. The old red 
sandstone crops out of all these hills. 

THE ANCIENT STANDING STONE. 

"We stop a moment at Huntingdon, ninety-seven miles from 
Harrisburg, the oldest and largest town on the Juniata, and 
the passengers are given a chance to study the little sign on 
the restaurant down a cellar opposite the station, at Fourth 
and Allegheny Streets, which reads : 

" Roast Chicken Pies Cakes 
Eggs Walk In." 

The town is built of brick, and all the streets apparently 
run up the hill-sides till they get out into the rural district. 
This thriving city was the ancient " Standkig Stone," the 
place of the earliest settlement on this part of the Juniata 
River, in 1754. It is the present terminus of the canal, for 
though the old Pennsylvania Canal originally was continued 
farther up, to Hollidaysburg, the portion of that great work 
above Huntingdon has been abandoned. The Standing Stone 
at Huntingdon was a stone about fourteen feet high and six 
inches square, erected by the Indians, and covered with their 
hieroglyphics. When they sold their lands hereabout to the 
whites in 175-1 they carried off this stone. Subsequently the 
white settlers erected another stone in its place, but it was 
broken, and some of the fragments are now preserved as 
relics. The Standing Stone is engraved on the corporate seal 
of Huntingdon, being surrounded by mountains. It is an 
appropriate symbol. The name of the town was formally 
changed to Huntingdon as early as 1767, but it continued to 
be called Standing Stone for many years afterwards. The 
original name is still borne by the creek, valley, ridge, and 
mountain in the neighborhood, and its Indian equivalent — 
Oneida — is given to the township north of the railway, 



200 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

through which the creek flows down to the Juniata. Dr. 
William Smith, who was the proprietor of the site in 1767, 
gave the town its present name. He was the provost of the 
University of Pennsylvania, and a famous lady of that day, 
Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, having given the university 
a liberal donation, he gave his town her name. Mountains 
surround it on all sides, and they are interspersed with most 
picturesque valleys. The banks of the Juniata contain some 
of the most weird-looking and remarkable rocks, and not far 
away are the " Pulpit Kocks," that look as if hewn out of the 
red sandstone especially for a rostrum. 

The railway, after leaving Huntingdon, still goes along the 
Juniata bank, but its way has to be hewn along the bases of 
the hills, under vast overhanging masses of rocks. The 
valley narrows and the water in the river seems low and stag- 
nant, so that it becomes the " green" rather than the " blue" 
Juniata just here. An occasional fisherman on the bank 
waits for a bite with the patience that is proverbial among 
that ilk ; and the ladies of this region are not above throw- 
ing a hook into the stream to see what game they can land. 
Thus we come to Petersburg, one hundred and four miles 
from Harrisburg, where there is a forge, and where the rail- 
way leaves the Juniata, now become a narrow stream, and 
seeks its farther way up the Little Juniata Creek. This 
little stream the railway crosses and recrosses, as it pursues 
its wayward and crooked course. 

THE SINKING SPRING AND CAPTAIN LOGAN. 

Our route is now hewn through the rocky spurs of the 
mountains, until the gorge becomes so narrow that at Spruce 
Creek the railway suddenly darts through a tunnel, with most 
picturesque approaches. The Little Juniata here flows along 
the narrow pass known as the " Water Street," and beyond 
the tunnel it zigzags in the most amusing style, and the water 
becomes blue again as it bubbles merrily over the stones. 
The railway bridges are built high above the stream, and 
some of the wooden structures are being replaced with iron, 
and as the work goes on without stopping traffic, the train 
slows in crossing. Pretty views are given along the stream 
as we cross these numerous bridges, with the amphitheatres 
of wood-covered hills that the curving rivulet constantly pre- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 201 

sents. Limestone-quarries are frequently passed. The creek, 
which is a raging mountain torrent at times, is now ahnost 
narrow enough to jump over. In this region, as we pass the 
pretty town of Birmingham, we are reminded of the famous 
Sinking Spring. The spring originally appears in a cave, 
where it comes out of an arched opening, with enough water 
to drive a large grist-mill. Just below the mill the stream 
disappears ; comes again to the surface farther on, runs some 
distance, and then enters a cave. After passing under Cave 
Mountain, it reappears, and flows into the Juniata, at the 
Water Street. The Sinking Spring Valley furnished the Gov- 
ernment with lead during the Revolution, and the famous and 
beautiful Arch Spring where this wonderful stream begins, is 
near the pleasant village of Birmingham. 

We enter " Little Blair" County, a region carved out of 
the Allegheny Mountain side, pass the Tyrone forges, and at 
Tyrone pass the junction of the railroad coming down from 
the coal-fields of Clearfield County. Tyrone is a lively town, 
with a fine new brick station, having mansard and slate-cov- 
ered pyramid-pinnacled roofs, set at the foot of the Allegheny 
range, one hundred and twelve miles from Harrisburg. It is 
a railway creation barely thirty years old, standing at the en- 
trance of the Bald Eagle Valley, and known as the " Little 
City." Here lived " Captain Logan," the chief of the Dela- 
ware Indians, who had lost his eye by an arrow wound, was 
deposed from his chieftainship in consequence, and came to 
the Juniata Valley to settle, where he was the sincere friend 
of the early white settlers. He died at Clearfield, but his 
Tyrone home is still known as Logan's Springs, and the 
Pennsylvania Railroad here turning southwest runs through 
Logan's Valley towards Altoona, where his portrait in full 
Indian costume still keeps his memory green in the railway 
hotel, which has been named for him the " Logan House." 
This valley at the base of the Allegheny Mountain, through 
which the railway now runs, has the great Brush Mountain 
on its southeastern side, a long, dark green ridge rising 
against the horizon, and running far away to the southwest. 
AVe pass Tipton and Fostoria, the line running through the 
valley between the great mountain-ridges, and come to Bell's 
Mills, where a narrow-gauge road crosses the mountain 
through Bell's Gap from the Clearfield coal-fields beyond. 



202 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

"We liere leave the Little Juniata and take a course across 
country towards Altoona, running past sundry iron furnaces. 
At Elizabeth Furnace the valley is comparatively flat, and a 
good deal of the land appears to be well cultivated, though 
some of the more distant wheat-fields seem almost set on 
edge. Soon we run into Altoona, with its great railway- 
shops and vast aggregation of cars, and, moving for a mile or 
more through them, stop at the station, two hundred and 
thirty-six miles from Philadelphia. Our ride has been taken 
for over one hundred miles along the romantic Juniata and 
through some of the finest scenery in the world. 



XXYIL 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILROAD. 

A RAILWAY TOWN. 

Altoona is entirely a creation of the Pennsylvania Railroad. 
That company originally established the town at the eastern 
base of the Allegheny Mountain ; located its construction 
and repair shops and the headquarters of the executive staff 
here, and the entire population is directly or indirectly de- 
pendent on the railway for a livelihood. The city is, in fact, 
a model railway town ; its sensations are all of the railway 
style ; its banks, newspapers, libraries, schools, and institu- 
tions were all founded by railway assistance, and the railway 
permeates and saturates everything in the place. The loco- 
motive bell and whistle and the steady roll of passing trains 
are heard all day and most of the night. You sit on the 
porch of the Logan House (the railway hotel) and watch the 
passengers from every arriving train rush for their meals, 
while the east-bound freight-cars, one by one, run over the 
weigh-scale on the far side of the line, the dow^n grade from 
the mountain enabling them to move by their own gravity. 
Two and sometimes three engines are harnessed together to 
take every west-bound train up the mountain, for the most 
of it still has to be climbed, though Altoona is eleven hundred 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 203 

and sixty-eight feet above the sea-level. To the left hand, 
just below the hotel, is a foot-bridge over the tracks, and 
going up there a view can be got of all the great yard, ex- 
tending a long distance each way, which handles one of 
the greatest railway traffics in the world. In 1849, in the 
early history of the Pennsylvania Railroad, when the old 
Portage road with its inclined planes over the mountain was 
still in use, this railway town was started, and it grew into a 
city in 1867, and now probably has twenty thousand popula- 
tion. The railway-shops occupy one hundred and twenty- 
three acres, and are in two bodies. The locoraotive-shops 
are over on the other side of the railway, opposite the Logan 
House, while the car-shops are about a mile to the eastward, 
down the railway towards Harrisburg. The Pennsylvania 
Railroad builds all its own engines and cars, and this is what 
makes much of the business of Altoona. 

ALTOONA LOCOMOTIVE-SHOPS. 

Let us go over the foot-bridge and take a look at the loco- 
motive-shops. There are about forty-two acres covered by 
them ; there are three engine round-houses, the largest three 
hundred feet in diameter ; two erecting-shops, each three 
hundred and fifty feet long; a machine-shop, four hundred 
and twenty-six feet long, and another house for general pur- 
poses, three hundred and thirty-six feet long. To move the 
half-built locomotives about and get easy transfer from one 
shop to the other, transfer-tables run at right angles to these 
shops, and in such manner as to communicate with tracks 
leading into all of them, these tables moving in a pit three 
hundred and fifty-six feet long. Railway tracks are laid in 
all these shops, and communicate with these transfer-tables, 
while on the opposite side of the pit are boiler-, flanging-, 
tank-, and wheel-shops, and two blacksmith-shops, the largest 
being three hundred and forty-five by one hundred and 
twenty-six feet. Beyond this is a foundry, two hundred and 
fifty by one hundred feet, a wheel-foundry, one hundred and 
thirty-nine feet long, and a brass-foundry, one hundred feet 
long, and the necessary adjuncts. It requires a building one 
hundred and twenty-eight by twenty-six feet to store the 
charcoal, while the pattern-house measures one hundred by 
fifty feet. On the southern side of the enclosure is the paint- 



204 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

shop, three hundred and forty-six feet long. In these im- 
mense shops, which make up one of the greatest iron estab- 
lishments in the country, the chief work is locomotive-building 
and repairs, but in addition a great amount of general iron- 
work is performed, including all the requirements of a first- 
class railway, excepting the original manufacture of iron and 
steel and the rolling of plates, rails, and bars. All the 
switches, crossings, and signals are made here, car-wheels are 
cast, castings are made for the cars, bridges, and buildings, 
tools are made and repaired, machinery constructed, oils 
mixed and prepared, and telegraph instruments and appur- 
tenances manufactured. It is, in fact, as complete an iron 
and steel emporium and factory as can be devised for all the 
purposes of a railway, and is the growth of more than thirty 
years. The shops, too, have every essential that science and 
invention have devised for making good work, and to tell 
about them all would fill a volume. In the machine-shop is 
located, on the centre track, a great power crane, which can' 
travel the whole length. The heavy machine-tools are located 
alongside this track, so that work of great weight is thus 
easily handled and transferred. Hydraulic elevators of large 
size also transfer work to the upper floor. A long planing- 
machine planes the locomotive-frames ; while there are other 
planing-machines, vertical and horizontal, milling-machines, 
and a slotting-machine, with any number of lathes, and ad- 
joining a large tool-room where the smaller tools are made. 
In the boiler-shop are great flanging forges, and smith's 
forges, with a crane to wait on them ; a tank-building depart- 
ment, with hoists rigged to overhead-rails so that the tanks 
can be carried wherever they are to be fastened to the ten- 
ders ; and an erecting-room, with a steam riveting-machine 
and two big cranes to carry around the work, and also sets 
of bending-rolls, punches, and shears. In the erecting-shop 
the locomotive parts collected from the other shops are put 
together and the engine is here built. Overhead travelling- 
cranes, capable of lifting twenty-five tons apiece, carry the 
work about, while beneath the floor are pits extending the 
whole length of the building alongside the rails, on which the 
locomotives are set up. In these pits all the machinery of 
engines whose boilers are in repair in the boiler-shop is stored, 
while they also contain the pumps and other arrangements 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD, 205 

for the hydraulic test of boilers. In the great foundry all the 
locomotive, car, and general castings are made. It has two 
cupolas, each capable of melting ten tons of iron an hour, 
cars, on a little two-foot gauge railroad, in the yard outside, 
supplying them with iron and fuel. There are blowing-engines 
to supply blast for these cupolas and also those of the wheel- 
foundry near by, and pumps to supply the lifts and other 
hydraulic machinery. The moulders have washing-troughs 
and bath-rooms, with all the conveniences for their comfort. 
TJie pattern-shop is fitted up with lathes, circular- and scroll- 
saws and planing machinery, and has a big storehouse. Tlie 
brass-foundry has its melting-furnaces, arranged in a circle 
around a stack which has radial flues connecting with each. 
Here^ all the car-bearings are made in special moulding- 
machines, the material being phosphor-bronze. 

MAKING CAR-WHEELS. 

The wheel-foundry is full of hydraulic cranes, each swing- 
ing around a circle about thirteen feet in diameter, aroun^d 
which is placed a dozen moulding-flasks. A big ladle, hold- 
ing ten tons of molten iron, supplies small ladles which travel 
all around this foundry and fill the moulding-flasks, while two 
cupolas melt the iron. Adjoining is an annealing-room, con- 
taining forty-five pits arranged in two circles, one within the 
other, where the wheels are annealed, each pit holding about 
twenty wheels. The wheels stay in these pits four 'or five 
days. This wheel-foundry, employing over a hundred men 
who cast about two hundred wheels a day, uses up in the 
operation about twenty-five tons of iron. A peculiarity of 
this work is the fact that, although the moulds are all made 
alike, yet the wheels vary in size, sometimes a half-inch in 
the circumference, due to the variation in the hardness of 
the iron. Pairing them by measure with a brass tape is 
therefore necessary, the diameter being stencilled upon them. 
There is a vise-shop for finishing work, and a tube-shop where 
boiler tubes are welded and tested. The larger blacksmith- 
shop contains twenty-five double forges and seven steam-ham- 
mers, two of them of five thousand pounds each, while the 
smaller shop has twenty double forges and three steam-hani- 
iners, and in an annex devoted exclusively to making locomo- 
tive springs, there are four forges. In the locomotive-wheel 

18 



206 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

house the tyres are forced on the wheels and the wheels on 
the axles by hydraulic pressure, sometimes running as high 
as eighty tons. In the paint-shop the locomotives are taken 
in at one end, and gradually moved to the other as the work 
advances, being taken out finished at the western exit. They 
are all painted very dark green, the freight- engines relieved 
by yellow lines and the passenger-engines by gold lines. 
There are buildings for compressing and storing the gas 
burned in the passenger- cars. At the east end of the shops 
is the Kound-house where the locomotives coming from Har- 
risburg go, containing thirty radiating tracks converging to a 
turn-table fifty feet in diameter. As soon as the engines come 
into the house they are inspected and small repairs are made, 
different men taking charge of the locomotive from those who 
run it upon the road. The central Round-house, which is 
near the transfer-table at the centre of the shops, has twenty- 
six radiating tracks, and is used in the repairing and con- 
structing of engines brought from the machine-shop. The 
third liound-house at the western end of the shops is the 
largest, and accommodates the locomotives coming from Pitts- 
burg. It has forty four radiating tracks. These shops are 
provided with fire patrol and watch, lavatories, etc. There 
is also a department for physical and chemical tests of all 
materials as well as finished work, the operations of which 
are of much interest. Resistance to all sorts of strains is 
here tested, also resistance to breakage, and to tension in the 
case of iron bars. In testing the axles, a drop, weighing 
sixteen hundred and forty pounds, falling twenty-five feet, 
gives five blows on a passenger-car axle, and the same number 
on a freight axle, two blows at fifteen feet fall and three at 
ten feet, the axle being turned half-round after every blow. 
To make this test one axle is taken at random out of every 
lot of one hundred, and if it withstands the test they are all 
accepted ; if not, they are all rejected. Lubricants are also 
tested by trying them on a journal running from three hun- 
dred to one thousand revolutions a minute, and having over it 
brass bearings weighted up to four tons. A pendulum and 
thermometer note the result. The oils are also tested for 
gravity and inflammability, 300° being the lowest that will 
be passed. This department also tests the valu6 of various 
kinds of coal, the paints, the zinc, and sulphate of copper 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 207 

used in the telegraphing service, and also the air taken from 
passenger-cars, so as to improve their ventilation. These lo- 
comotive-shops employ about two thousand three hundred 
men, and can turn out a hundred locomotives a year, besides 
repairing as many more. They built eighty-five new locomo- 
tives last year. 

ALTOONA CAR-SHOPS. 

Let us now go down towards the eastern end of the yard, 
and on the northern side of the main track examine the im- 
mense enclosure, with its gigantic Round-house, where the 
car-constructing and repair-shops are located. They cover 
over seventy-six acres, with the adjacent shops for the Depart- 
ment of Maintenance of Way. The great Round-house, which 
is a forty-sided polygon, is the place where freight- cars are 
built and repaired. It is four hundred and thirty feet in 
diameter, and has forty radiating tracks converging to a cen- 
tral turn-table sixty-five feet in diameter. This turn-table is 
not roofed over, but the Round-house has an inner wall, so 
that it represents a huge ring, with outer and inner walls 
about one hundred feet apart. There can be one hundred 
and fourteen freight-cars building in this shop at one time, 
and five hundred new cars can be turned out in a month, all 
the materials completed elsewhere being brought here and 
put together. If there is no new building going on there 
can be two thousand cars repaired in a month. The passen- 
ger-car erecting-shop covers two hundred and ten by one 
hundred and thirty-three feet, and has five lines of rails, while 
twenty cars can be building in it at one time, and on an aver- 
age one new passenger- car can be turned out for every day 
in the year. The planing-mill is two hundred and twenty- 
two by seventy- three feet, and contains nearly all the wood- 
working machines, the rough timber being here made up into 
the parts required for cars. These machines cut up two mil- 
lion feet of lumber in a month. The sawdust and shavings 
from them are carried off in galvanized-iron pipes, which go 
up to tubes running the whole length of the building about 
twenty feet above the floor The tubes lead to large" trunks 
which conduct the sawdust and shavings out to two capacious 
Bhaving-towers near the boiler-house. Hoppers on the floor 
collect the sawdust and shavings there, and the motive-power 



208 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

in all tliese tubes is a powerful draught of air. This refuse 
furnishes fuel for the boilers. The blacksmith- shop is three 
hundred and fifty-eight by seventy-three feet, and contains 
thirty-four double forges, besides other furnaces for heating 
bolts and springs. The forges are arranged on the long sides 
of the building, while in the central space are steam-hammers, 
punching and bolt-making machines, drilling and shearing 
machines, and a fan to blow all the fires. A building, three 
hundred and two by seventy-three feet, accommodates the 
cftbinet-shop, where all the cabinet-work for the passenger- 
cars is made ; the tin-shop, where they make roofs, lamps, 
water-filters, etc., for the car service ; and the machine-shop, 
where they prepare the axles, bore out the wheels, and cut 
bolts. There are in this latter shop eleven axle-lathes that 
will finish fifty axles a day, three wheel-boring machines that 
will bore one hundred and twenty-five wheels a day ; hydraulic 
presses to force the car- wheels on and draw them off" the 
axles, the pressure going up to forty tons, and also drilling, 
centring, bolt-cutting, and nut-tapping machines. The car- 
painting and upholstery shops are in another building, three 
hundred and sixty-three by seventy-three feet, with four lines 
of rails that can accommodate twenty-eight passenger-cars. 
They also paint here all the station boards, mile, and other 
posts and signs for the road. Here are also painted the canvas 
linings for the cars, some of which are highly decorated ; 
while a large force work upon upholstery, mainly the making 
and repairing of cushions for car seats and backs. There is 
a timber drying-house, sixty-five by thirty feet, steam heat 
drying the timber, about one hundred and twenty thousand 
feet being dried every month. The lumber-yard covers twelve 
acres, and contains great stacks and piles of the various kinds 
of timber, and with tracks leading to all of them, there being 
usually about eight million feet on storage, and fifty men 
engaged in handling it. A good deal of the storage is for 
finished parts of freight- and passenger-cars kept in stock and 
ready to put together when needed. The engine-house covers 
one hundred and five by twenty-eight feet, with a double 
Corliss engine of two hundred and fifty horse-power, furnish- 
ing power for all the machinery in the various shops. A 
large yard is used for storing wheels and axles, and here the 
latter are tested by the heavy drop as above described. 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 209 

There is also a fire-engine-liouse and a regularly organized 
fire brigade among the workmen, with water-plugs and hy- 
ic^rants distributed throughout the vast establishment. There 
are general ofiices and storehouses, and in these immense car- 
building works are employed about nineteen hundred men. 
There is also an ice-house holding twelve hundred tons, where 
the ice is stored that furnishes the water-coolers on the pas- 



THE MAGNITUDE OF THE SHOPS. 

Here are the great shops of the Pennsylvania Railroad, 
although there are many smaller shops at different points on 
the line, such as West Philadelphia, Pittsburg, Jersey City, 
etc. They contain at Altoona the greatest plant for building 
and repairing locomotives and cars that is owned by any rail- 
way in the country, and are kept up to the highest point of 
efficiency. All the locomotives and cars are made according 
to standard patterns and sizes ; and all parts are kept in 
stock, so that duplicates can always be speedily furnished 
when wanted on every part of the extensive line. To see 
these busy shops running at full capacity is one of the sights 
of the present time, and it gives an idea to the visitor of 
what a big institution the Pennsylvania Railroad is. It is 
estimated that out of the twenty thousand population of Al- 
toona there are eighteen thousand persons directly supported 
by the railroad, for it employs four thousand five hundred 
men at Altoona, and at four persons to a family this would 
be eighteen thousand. The other two thousand probably live 
indirectly off of the eighteen thousand. Besides repairing 
old work, these shops last year built eighty-five new locomo- 
tives, one hundred and six passenger-cars, and three thousand 
seven hundred and eighty-one freight-cars. Yet the Robe- 
son Farm, which was bought for the station and shops, cost 
the company originally but ten thousand dollars, and, im- 
mense as is the annual product of these shops, it seems al- 
most a bagatelle compared with the entire equipment of the 
company. It takes, to day, to conduct the vast traffic of the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, one thousand and seventy-one locomo- 
tives and forty- five thousand five hundred and eighty-two 
cars. Of the latter, twenty-one thousand four hundred and 
nine are owned by the company, and twenty-one thousand four 
o 18* 



210 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

hundred and seventy-three by private individuals and the vari- 
ous Car Trusts that furnish additional equipment for its lines. 
In going through these shops the visitor is impressed with 
the thorough good order and cleanliness everywhere prevail- 
ing, and the celerity with which all dirt, rubbish, and refuse 
materials are got out of the way. Little flower gardens and 
lawns are also planted among the machine-shops, giving a 
most pleasant contrast to their sombreness. "When we saw 
them they were not only running full time, but were so 
pressed with work that on three nights in the week extra 
time was made until ten P.M., while the lathe-shops were 
being illuminated by the Brush electric light on trial. It 
was amusing to watch the machines bore and cut and shave 
the iron and steel like so much cheese ; to see the new Sel- 
lers machine, from Philadelphia, bore out the steam cylinders 
in half the time taken by the old English machine near by ; 
to go into the tool-room and see the sets of standard tools 
and gauges, and especially the gauge that measures the one- 
ten-thousandth part of an inch. Then in the erecting-shop 
there was an engine that had just come from a collision, 
brought in to be repaired. It was battered front and rear, 
and looked like a badly-damaged prize-fighter. All railways 
have to provide for such mishaps, but at Altoona it does not 
take long to fix things up. We stood beside the new mon- 
sters, — the Class K engines, — of which eight are now run- 
ning, — with their enormous power and six-feet-eight-inch 
drivers and steam rcversins; crear, not unlike the steam steer- 
ing apparatus on board ship, — and are drawing the fast trains 
between Philadelphia and New York. The cleanliness and 
good order of the shops are repeated at the stations and 
everywhere along the line. The railway operatives move 
like clock-work, and the new " Track Indicator," which came 
out to be looked at, runs over the line in charge of a sharp 
Philadelphia boy, and registers every unevenncss and ine- 
quality of the track, making its mark on a broad band of 
paper in the form of an erratic diagram, not unlike the rec- 
ords of the ups and downs of President Garfield's pulse. 

THE VIEW PROM GOSPEL HILL. 

The Logan House has on its eastern side a pretty lawn with 
flower-beds and a terrace at the back. Here, as well as on 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 211 

tlie piazzas, tlie guests can sit under the trees, within a few 
yards of the railway, and watch the endless procession of cars 
go by. A daily average of two thousand one hundred cars 
passes in front of the house, and many to whom a railway 
acts like a charm with its moving trains, go tliere for a sum- 
mer resort. Yet the great traffic moves quietly and swiftly, 
without any apparent regulation, and with the completest 
order in every respect. Altoona, beyond the shops and the 
railroad, has not much to show the visitor. It has a hilly set 
of streets, badly paved in some parts and mostly with wooden 
sidewalks. These streets, when the hills get too steep for 
ordinary methods, do not hesitate to climb flights of not the 
most secure steps. Some of the rows of houses on the hill- 
side are set twenty feet above the street they front upon, and 
rather ricketty stairways lead up to the stoops. We explored 
one of these regions out past the pasture where Mr. Robert 
Eiddle's two dogs, " Rover" and " Minus," watch his single 
cow, taking care of her all day and bringing her home to be 
milked in the evening. " Minus" is tailless, and hence his 
name, but though he has lost the power of wagging, his name 
has been inscribed in the annals of local fame in the Altoona 
Tribune. 

We then climbed to the top of Grospel Hill, and got a 
glorious view for miles away. Here, standing on the Alle- 
gheny Mountain side, we saw the city spread out at our feet, 
its houses scattered over a long narrow strip of ground on 
the sloping sides of the valley, with the railroad, and its shops 
and great buildings, spread along the centre. Far away to 
the southward in the background was the dark green ridge 
known as Brush Mountain, with the notch in it called the 
Kettle, through which could be seen the grayer and more 
distant mountains behind. Turning to the northward, was 
seen the distant slope of the Allegheny Mountains, rising 
higher than any of the others, as they spread out, a series 
of flat-topped mountains, far away to the southwest, with the 
sun setting in the clouds behind. Such is Altoona, and the 
distant bell and whistle and the long lines of smoke far down 
in the valley tell the story of the railway that has brought 
this busy city out of the wilderness. 



212 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES, 



XXVIII. 

THE BELL'S GAP KAILKOAD. 

CLIMBING THE ALLEGHENIES. 

Seven miles east of Altoona the little stream known as 
Laurel Run flows under the Pennsylvania Railroad, and, after 
turning the wheels of some flour-mills not far away from the 
line, it runs eastward to join the head-waters of the Juniata. 
This little stream comes down a precipitous valley from the Al- 
legheny Mountain side. At the railway the station is known 
as Bell's Mills, and at the head of the valley is one of the 
notches cut in the mountain summit, known as Bell's Gap. A 
narrow-gauge railroad climbs the mountain along the steep 
sides of this valley, and, crossing through Bell's Gap, goes 
over into Clearfield County to bring away its wealth of coal 
and lumber and bark for tanning. Twice a year Philadelphia 
is reminded of the existence of this railroad by announcements 
of the payment of interest on its bonds, but very few know 
that its short route of nine miles up the mountain discloses 
some of the wildest and grandest scenery in America. It 
twists around short curves and runs over break-neck trestles, 
and climbs a grade sometimes of one hundred and sixty to 
two hundred feet to the mile, the powerful little engines, built 
by the Baldwin Works, hauling up heavy loads, with many a 
snort and strain ; but they all slide down the mountain with 
the greatest ease. For terrific sensations, wild scenery, and 
an idea of what railroading can do, this is the road to take. 
You will be rewarded by the time you are through. 

We found the railway staff on this three-foot-wide road, 
when it was visited, engaged in coaxing a big coal-car back to 
the track, which had assumed a rather wayward career, and 
in this task three locomotives and sundry logs of wood and 
jack-screws were assisting. While waiting for the coal-car 
to behave itself, we studied one of the expedients by which 
freight carrying was simplified on this line. They bring down 
the laden car, run it on an ingeniously constructed frame-work, 



THE BELL'S GAP RAILROAD. 213 

take out the narrow-gauge trucks, and put in standard-gauge 
trucks. The process occupies about twenty minutes, and then 
the car can be sent to its destination by the Pennsylvania 
Railroad. The wayward coal-car having kindly permitted 
itself to be persuaded back to the track, and the line being 
thus cleared, we started on our journey up the mountain in a 
little observation-car, open at the sides, and with seats much 
like our city summer passenger-cars. It was put on the end 
of a freight- and passenger-train, and was designated a " special 
car," upon which the residents of Bell's Mills gazed with 
proper respect. The other passengers, chiefly coal-miners 
and timber-cutters, took their places in the regular train, save 
one old lady who had just arrived from Wales, and was bound 
for her daughter's home at Lloydsville, on top of the mountain. 
No one had come to meet her, and she left her big sea-chest 
in the station while she went up the mountain to reconnoitre. 
She rode with us, and had no fears of breaking her neck on 
the journey, but looking askance at the wild and unsettled 
aspect of the country, she did express great fears of not get- 
ting enough to eat up in such a rough place as that. Then 
we started, and, aided by the knowledge of a friendly brakes- 
man, began exploring the mountain-pass. As we steamed 
along on the comparatively level land at the entrance to the 
valley, Brush Mountain rose grandly behind us. We ran away 
from it, however, up the valley towards the northwest, directly 
at the face of the high green wood-clad mountain in front, in 
which a deep fissure was cut by nature. We moved at first 
over the farm-land in the bottom of the valley. Then we 
began rising up-hill, and twisting round sharp curves, and 
running over high trestles, crossing deep valleys, down which 
little brooks flowed over the stones. We entered the fissure, 
which on approaching had broadened into a wide gorge, and 
as the train climbed the side, great hills uncovered their tops 
around us, all tree-clad to their summits. The road wound 
in and out, but rose steadily upward, and the scenery became 
very like the much-praised Vosges of France and Jura of 
Switzerland. We toiled through the red sandstone, for in 
many places the roadway was cut out of the solid rock, and a& 
the engine puff"ed and strained in going up the hill the passen- 
gers jumped off" wherever it suited their convenience without 
troubling the conductor to stop the train. 



214 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 



POINT LOOKOUT. 

The railroad gradually mounted the eastern side of the 
precipitous Laurel Run Valley, and, as we toiled upward, far 
ahead and above could be seen a jutting precipice, around 
which the road wound like a streak, and which is called Point 
Lookout. We saw it away across the abyss, and it took 
three miles of winding roadway to reach it. Down in the 
valley, far beneath us, was an occasional house. We went 
over the ticklish Collier trestle which curved around as it 
crossed a narrow but deep valley ; and having doubts of the 
trestle's lasting, they are building a solid roadway farther up, 
which will soon be put into use. From this elevated perch 
we can see far down the valley up which we came, and look 
back at the mountains we passed. Then steadily upward 
through the forests we climb, twisting and turning and 
watching our goal at Point Lookout. The ground is full of 
stumps and stones and strewn with the trunks of fallen trees. 
Some of the trees are enormous pines, — straight and noble 
sticks that would make magnificent ship masts. We pass 
now and then a rough wood cabin by the roadside, — one 
labelled " Boarding House." The train stops whenever de- 
sired at these cabins by the few women who are on board. 
Another scare-crow trestle bending around carries us over 
Shaw Ptun, where they are building a saw-mill to work up 
the timber, and this carrying the road to the other side of 
the valley, we moved directly upward towards Point Look- 
out. The noble trees stand up on the mountain-side below 
us, and we can see far over their heads. This is the primi- 
tive forest, wild beyond all imagination, and as we mount to 
Point Lookout the view becomes unspeakably grand. Far 
beneath us on the other side of the valley, is the road up 
which we have climbed, and as we go around the Point and 
come out on the face of the precipice we open up a superb 
landscape down the valley towards Brush Mountain, from 
which we came. We run through a shower as the sun shines 
on the hills below us and far away, for storms are of easy 
manufacture on these mountain-tops. We have mounted 
almost to the summit of the range, getting nearly to the level 
of the peaks above, but still toil upward after rounding the 
Point, and move along the side of a higher valley. Range 



THE BELL'S GAP RAILROAD. 215 

after range of flat-topped and forest-covered mountains are 
around us, the magnificent spruce and pines standing every- 
where. Fires have gone through in some phices and scorched 
and blackened their trunks, while rough and broken stones 
strew the ground. 

THE RHODODENDRON PARK. 

There are saw-mills up here, hid away in the woods, that 
cut this timber into boards for shipment. Great lumber-piles 
surround them. Whenever the train stops all the passengers 
stand up and look around, and so does the entire population 
of the mountain-top, — which is not numerous. Thus, in the 
midst of a forest, we cross the summit of the mountain, and 
rattle along at a quick pace on the level ground, the little 
cars surging and jumping about on the narrow road. Eeach- 
ing Lloydsville, on the mountain-top, our little observation- 
car, grandly named the " Yal Halla," lands us at the Rhodo- 
dendron Park. Here, among the laurel bushes, in this wild 
and romantic region on the top of the Alleghenies they have 
established a lovely picnic-ground, to which Altoona pleasure- 
parties like to go. There cannot be imagined a prettier place 
than this Park. A little spring comes out of the rocks near 
the railway, and the brook flowing from it runs through a 
grove of enormous trees. The water is dammed into minia- 
ture lakes, into which little islands have been put, whereon 
sweet flowers grow. Rustic bridges have been thrown across 
the water, some of them merely the trunks of trees that lay 
just as the axe has felled them. A little fountain plashes 
into a rustic basin in front of a pavilion, where refuge can be 
taken from the rain-storms that sometimes come so quickly, 
and where there is a platform for the orchestra to lead the 
dance, or for the orator to exhibit himself upon. The cold 
spring-water supplies all the wants of the thirsty in this ele- 
vated elysium, and rustic tables are scattered under the trees, 
whereon the lunch-baskets can have their contents spread 
when the keen mountain air has created an early appetite. 
Here on the top of the Alleghenies, in one of its wildest and 
loneliest parts, has been made this Paradise for the picknicker 
of " Little Blair" County. It is about eleven hundred feet 
higher than Bell's Mills, and probably two thousand three 
hundred feet above tide-water. The laurel bushes, some of 



216 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

immense size, surround tlie Park, and when all tlie rhodo- 
dendrons are in full bloom it is a magnificent sight. Yet, 
how many Philadelphians know that such a place exists, 
or that it is within the compass of a few hours' journey from 
the Delaware ?^ 

SLIDING DOWN THE ALLEGHENY MOUNTAIN. 

"When the time came to be reluctantly torn away from this 
beautiful spot we got on our little " Val Halla" again, and the 
locomotive came behind us and pushed the car out over the 
summit, so that we could go down the mountain by gravity. 
They don't usually run their trains this way, but this was done 
to show how easy a thing it is to slide down the mountain. 
Passing the summit, the locomotive stopped and then went 
back to Lloydsville after the rest of the train. Then we began 
running down the mountain, around the curves and through 
the woods and over the trestles, at times attaining high speed. 
The sensation, as our little car danced along the track, was 
startling at times, but Mr. Superintendent Ford held the brake, 
and we felt confidence in his wish not to have crape hung out 
on the Ledger building just yet. As we passed swiftly by 
the wild-flowers on the hill-side and the profusion of coal that 
has been dropped from the cars along the roadway, and grad- 
ually emerged from the forest, the grand view far away down 
the valley and across the mountains opened before us. We 
came out around Point Lookout, and if we had run off the 
track, would have crashed a thousand feet down the precipice. 
The sensation was startling. We halted a moment on the 
brink and looked far away over the deep valley of Laurel Run 
and among its surrounding mountain-peaks, the view being 
closed in the distance by the gray sides of Brush Mountain, 
seven miles away. The stream could be heard purling along 
in the valley as we stopped to pick the huckleberries over- 
hanging the railway. Then we started again on the slide down 
this exciting hill, with the railway winding far ahead of us, a 
long, twisting streak beneath our feet, over on the other side 
of the valley. As the car rushes along, the mountain air blows 
sharply in our faces, and thus we cross Shaw Run trestle, 
ninety feet high, with the brook running beneath, and the 
timber-cutters rolling logs down the hill-side. 

Again we stop a moment after an exciting race down a piece 



THE BELL'S GAP RAILROAD. 217 

of straight track, to show how completely the car is under 
control. Everything around is silent, excepting the running 
of the water in the valley below. We turn around and look 
backward across and far up the valley to Lookout Point, where 
a locomotive with a train of coal-cars is winding snake-like 
along the streak of roadway to make a long chase after us 
down the hill. But it will have to run three miles to catch 
us, and we start up again, and through the woods and down 
the hill and around the curves at high speed, with the cloud- 
shadows floating over the mountain-side and the cold air fan- 
ning our beaming faces. Crossing the curved Collier trestle 
five stories high, we run high above the saw-mill in the val- 
ley. Up on the mountain, far over our heads, a venturesome 
farmer has planted a field of wheat in a little clearing among 
the trees. In the lower part of the valley, as we run down to- 
wards it, there are several farms, with corn growing, the land 
being cleared to a considerable extent. Approaching Bell's 
Mills again, the smoke of the, passing trains on the Pennsyl- 
vania Railroad can be seen, spreading upward apparently 
against the dark side of Brush Mountain. We rush at high 
speed down a stretch of straight track along the sloping bottom 
of the valley. The car runs by gravity all the way out to the 
end of the road, where they have a pretty little brick church 
near the station among the trees, and plenty of flowers grow- 
ing on the sloping sides of the Pennsylvania Railway embank- 
ment. Few people know of this extraordinary gorge up the 
Alleghenies, yet here it is, combining most of the glories and 
grandeur and all of the exciting sensations of Mount Washing- 
ton or the Rigi Kulm. It is not got up on such a prodigious 
scale, perhaps, but for the mountain-climber it presents that 
great desideratum for all beginners, — a little one to learn on. 



19 



218 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

xxrx. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILROAD. 
CROSSING THE ALLEGHENIES. 

Having spent a little time at Altoona and in its neighbor- 
hood, let us cross the Allegheny Mountain by the Pennsylvania 
Railway, over the magnificent road which is one of the great- 
est triumphs of engineering skill in the world. We get on 
the open observation-car at the end of the train of Pullman 
coaches, and two powerful locomotives draw us up the hill. 
The start is made quietly and without any commotion, yet " on 
time," and we are soon speeding away out of Altoona up a 
grade of ninety feet to the mile, and can actually feel the 
powerful engines draw us up the ascent. The line runs south- 
west past the shops and cars, and under the bridge at the 
western end of the town, along the base of the mountain, as 
it were, but steadily ascending the hill. The road winds 
about over high banks and through deep cuttings, with the dark 
Brush Mountain ft\r away to the left, a rain-storm being on this 
side of it, the clouds passing across the face of the mountain. 
As the train steadily rises, the valley alongside appears to be 
sinking, for the road is mounting the hill-side, and a distant 
jutting mountain-spur shuts out the view of Brush Mountain. 
"VVe twist about with the curves and can see our two locomo- 
tives as we round the bends in the road, puflBng and laboring 
at the head of the train, and throwing out clouds of black 
smoke. The strong but small-wheeled " Modoc" at the head 
moves its machinery more rapidly than the stately passenger 
engine, but both do their full share of pulling. The road 
rises along the edge of the precipice, and we get a grand view 
across the deep valley to the southward, while far away and 
high up on the other side can be seen the railway over which 
we are to go, with trains moving like little specks upon it. 
To get the necessary elevation to carry the railway across the 
Allegheny, the engineers have taken it up the northern side 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 219 

of a deep valley, which runs far into the mountain and there 
divides into two smaller valleys, with an immense jutting crag 
between. Streams of water run down both the smaller val- 
leys and unite in the larger one. Having constructed the 
railroad to the place where the larger valley divides, it is 
brought around by a horseshoe bend, crosses each of the 
smaller valleys on an enormous curved embankment, with an 
archway beneath to let the rivulet through, has its route hewn 
out of the face of the jutting crag between, and then retraces 
its way on a steadily higher line, eastward, on the southern 
side of the larger valley. Thus, by the doubling system, the 
eniiineers have secured in a comparatively short space a great 
elevation, and the exciting scene can be imagined as we move 
along one side of the valley, and see our roadway with its 
running trains far across on the other side, with a broad, deep 
chasm between. The sweeping curve around the head of the 
larger valley is known as the " Horseshoe," and the jutting 
crag on the face of which the curve is partly hewn is Kittan- 
ning Point. Just here is the highest grade in ascending the 
mountain, about ninety-seven feet to the mile. Here also 
stands a signal-man waving his white flag, and his house, set 
on the front of the crag, where a flat space has been hewn 
out, is a little Swiss, chalet, a complete reproduction of the 
diminutive toy-houses one gets from the land of William Tell, 
even to the stones put on the roof to hold the thatch down, — 
though in this case the little house is shingled. Around it is 
a small lawn and flower-garden, a blooming Paradise among 
the rocks and trees of the rough mountain. The railway- 
hands have tried to sod the sides of the enormous embank- 
ments here, but find it almost impossible to keep the soda 
there, as the intense cold of winter freezes out the grass, and 
the heavy rains, washing down the hill-sides, sweep the soil 
away. This famous Kittanning Point is on the ancient Indian 
trail known as the Kittanning Path, where the Indians carried 
their canoes over the mountain when they made a long jour- 
ney between the Ohio and Juniata Valleys. Thus closely 
have the modern engineers followed the original road-makers 
among the red men. As we round the great '* Horseshoe" 
curve, we can look down upon the two rivulets uniting to form 
the little stream far below among the trees, which gives Al- 
toona its water-supply, but can scarcely believe that in the six 



220 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

miles we have come from the town the road has risen over 
five hundred feet. 

ALLEGRIPPUS AND ITS VIEW. 

Retracing our route, apparently, we are now running along 
the southern side of the valley, still mounting higher and 
higher, with the road over which our train has come stretched 
out far away below us on the other side of the abyss. There 
is a view far down the valley, over the wood-topped hills, 
towards Altoona, and, having run for three miles steadily 
higher and higher along the precipice, we round its outer- 
most point, and turn southwest again into another but much 
higher gorge running into the mountain. Here is Alle- 
grippus, famed for its noble view across the mountain-ranges 
and for the stupendous character of the work necessary to 
carry the railway along the edge of the precipice. There is 
no limit to this grand view, as there seems to be almost no 
limit to the depths down which we might be hurled were the 
cars to leave the track. Broad ranges of mountains spread 
fir away to the eastward, one beyond the other, with clouds 
hanging over them, and the hazy horizon closing the view 
miles beyond Altoona, whose smokes seem f\xr beneath us. 
Then we run up the second gorge, a Igng distance through 
woods, with the extra engines that have hauled up preceding 
trains running down the hill past us, Avith clanging bells, on 
the east-bound tracks. As we go along, the mountains seem 
to sink, for we are approaching their tops, but the bottom 
of the gorge is far below, and over on the green sloping* 
mountain-side beyond the gorge can be traced the Portage 
road, most of it like the modern railway, hewn out of the 
rocks to get a passage. As we twist in and out on the curves 
and through the cuttings, the passengers can study geology 
and the dip of the stratified rocks. The valley is very deep, 
with a muddy stream far below among the trees, among which 
there is an occasional cleared field, where they are trying to 
raise a crop, but find it hard work. There are a few rude 
cabins, and, excepting that there are no goats browsing 
among the stones on the mountain-side, and that the trees 
grow more thickly here, the place might be imagined a part 
of the Alps in Switzerland. Farther up towards the head 
of the valley there is an iron-furnace, with its outlying slag- 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 221 

heaps and the workmen's shanties, some of the latter looking 
rather forlorn for want of paint. This is Bennington Furnace, 
where there are seven coal-pits, and the coke-ovens and char- 
coal-heaps, in full blast, make a lurid glare and terrible 
smoke. Coal is mined at the summit of the mountain 
almost. 

A short distance farther on, the train rushes into the dark- 
ness of the great tunnel at the summit, upon the top of 
which some houses are built, so that the train runs through 
the bowels of the earth beneath them. The boundary-line 
between Blair and Cambria Counties is laid out along the 
top of the Allegheny Mountain range, so that, having entered 
the tunnel in Blair, we emerge in Cambria County, at Gal- 
litzin. It is a long tunnel, and as we rush through in the 
open car, the smoke and steam surround us, while the rail- 
way-hands with their lanterns prowl about the inmost re- 
cesses as the train darts by. This great work at the top of 
the mountain is two hundred and forty-eight miles from 
Philadelphia, and is about three thousand six hundred feet 
long, or more than two-thirds of a mile. The summit rises 
about two hundred and ten feet above it, and at the western 
end of the tunnel is the highest elevation reached by the 
Pennsylvania Railroad, two thousand one hundred and sixty- 
one feet above tide-water, the place at which it crosses the 
mountain being nearly two thousand four hundred feet high. 
While yet in the tunnel, our '' Modoc" engine at the head 
of the train, which had done such good pulling in coming 
up the hill, left us. It darted ahead and out of the tunnel, 
and off on a siding, where it turned around and was ready 
to go down the mountain again and help bring up another 
train. 

THE PRELATE-PRINCE GALLITZIN. 

Just at the western end of the great tunnel is Gallitzin, 
the highest station on the railway, and named in honor of 
Prince Gallitzin, who did so much for the earlier settlers of 
Cambria County. This county is the elevated table-land 
between the top of the Allegheny Mountain and the ridge 
to the westward known as Laurel Hill, and it includes the 
latter. While the eastern slope of the Allegheny range is 
abrupt and rugged, the western descent is comparatively 

19* 



222 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

gentle, and as the muddy stream in the valley bottom, which 
we saw just before entering the tunnel, sought the Juniata, 
so that its waters might flow through the Susquehanna into 
the Atlantic, so now we are no sooner out of the tunnel on 
the western side, than a diminutive rivulet appears by the 
roadside, whose waters go down through the Conemaugh to 
the Ohio, and thence by the Mississippi to the Gulf of 
Mexico. But this is not all, for almost at Gallitzin and north 
of the railway rises the Clearfield Creek, which is a tributary 
of the west branch of the Susquehanna, and, after a long 
detour northward, gets through the mountains and flows inta 
Chesapeake Bay. The west branch itself rises not far from 
Ebensburg, the Cambria County seat, eleven miles from 
Cresson. The Pennsylvania Railroad tjiikes the route by the 
Conemaugh Valley to get down the mountain on the western 
side, yet so elevated is this region that at one place on the 
branch railroad to Ebensburg can be seen on the one side a 
stream flowing to the Gulf, and on the other side one flowing 
to the Atlantic. 

At Loretto, five miles from Cresson, was the earliest set- 
tlement in Cambria County, and Michael McGuire was the 
first venturesome individual who went there to live among 
the savages, in 1790. His nearest neighbor was Thomas 
Blair, who lived at Blair's Gap, twelve miles away, on the 
top of the mountain, where the old Portage road afterwards 
went over. The new portage, which was abandoned almost 
as soon as built, came through a tunnel, emerging near the 
present railway tunnel at Gallitzin, McGuire and Blair, 
with the few companions who joined them, fought Indians 
and wild beasts, and led lives of constant peril, until the 
great missionary priest. Prince Demetrius Augustine Gal- 
litzin, appeared at Loretto, under the humble name of Smith. 
During forty years he labored among the mountains, build- 
ing, in 1799, a rude log chapel. His father was Prince Gal- 
litzin, of Bussia, and his mother was the daughter of Fred- 
erick the Great's field-marshal. General De Schmelten. He 
was born in 1770, at Munster, in Germany, and died in 1840, 
at Loretto, where his remains are buried in front of the 
Eoman Catholic Church, a monument marking the spot. He 
was educated for the army, but, arriving in Baltimore in 
1792, he renounced the military life for which he had been 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 223 

destined by his parents, and entered the church under the 
care and counsel of the venerable Bishop Carroll. He spent 
his fortune as well as his life in building up Loretto, on the 
frontier, where he gathered a population of three or four 
thousand people, chiefly Irish and Germans. This settle- 
ment, named after the city on the Adriatic, was the founda- 
tion of Cambria County, and during thirty years of his 
ministry he lived there in a small log hut. But the coal- and 
iron-mines attracted the Welsh subsequently, and that thrifty 
race founded Ebensburg, and gave their country's name of 
Cambria to the county. 

We leave Gallitzin and at once begin descending the moun- 
tain, going past the branch railways leading to the extensive 
coal-mines in the neighborhood, for the entire country as far 
west as Pittsburg is underlaid with bituminous coal. We 
descend the hill with accelerated speed and all brakes on. 
The scenery is by no means so grand as on the eastern slope, 
and the railway winds its route down the mountain, the coal- 
measures appearing in the sides of almost all the cuttings 
through the rocks. Before going very far we come in sight 
of the fine new hotel at Cresson Springs, with its pointed 
spires and peaked centre roof, standing at the top of a sloping 
lawn behind a grove of trees. Having come fifteen miles 
over the mountain the train stops, and the open observation- 
car is taken oif. Extensive coal-mining goes on in this 
neighborhood also, and a branch railway runs to Ebensburg, 
eleven miles away. 



XXX. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA EAILROAD. 
THE CRESSON SPRINGS. 

The Pennsylvania Railroad, just before it reaches the sta- 
tion at Cresson, crosses a country road on a fine single-arched 
stone bridge. Near by flows a rivulet, one of the sources of 
the Conemaugh, and down to this brook run the waters from 
St. Ignatius' Spring, not fir away on the lawn in front of the 



224 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Mountain House. This magnesia spring, named in memory 
of Ignatius Adams, one of the pioneer settlers, who formerly 
owned the ground on which it issues, together with an iron 
spring and an alum spring, about a mile back of the hotel, 
make the " Cresson Springs," whose medicinal waters are a 
great attraction for the visitors to this famous place. In the 
olden time, when the Portage Railroad crossed the mountain, 
and Hollidaysburg was in its glory, its Mountain House was 
the terminus of canal and afterwards of railway travel at the 
eastern base of the Alleghenies. But when the Pennsylvania 
route was opened by the Gallitzin tunnel, and the Logan 
House, at Altoona, took away the trajQ&c at Hollidaysburg, 
with the abandonment of the Portage road the Mountain 
House had lost its occupation. So they took it to pieces, 
and, bringing it over the mountain, set it up at Cresson 
Springs. It was a famous hostelrie in its day, with the out- 
lying colony of cottages, and became so popular that the cus- 
tom outgrew it. The old and familiar house was taken down 
after last season had closed, and bits of it appear in the neigh- 
boring villages, where the inhabitants have set them up for 
stylish houses. A magnificent new Mountain House has 
been built at Cresson this season, the Pennsylvania Railroad 
investing about two hundred thousand dollars in the enter- 
prise. 

There are about four hundred acres of land in the lawns, 
gardens, and groves around this new hotel, and its attractions 
are such that it has been filled with visitors ever since the 
opening. About seven hundred visitors sat down at the 
dinner-table when I was there, and the young manager, Mr. 
W. D. Tyler, was at his wits' end to know how to accommo- 
date all who wished to come. He manages this hotel and 
the Logan House at Altoona, together, and the difficulties of 
knowing how to " keep a hotel" are increased by the fact that 
almost all the supplies have to be drawn from Philadelphia. 
It is like an army gone out in the wilderness with its base of 
supplies two hundred and fifty-two miles away. The new 
hotel is a magnificent structure in the Queen Anne style, but 
they have rather interfered with its beauty to cheapen the 
first cost by putting a peaked roof in the centre instead of 
the ornamental dome that properly belongs there. This peak, 
however, will come down, and something replace it which is 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 225 

more in keeping with the four conical spires flanking it, all 
having surmounting weathercocks, no two of them pointing 
in the same direction. The roof-sides and upper walls are 
shingled in colors, and the house has ponderous stone foun- 
dations, being built to stay a long time in its lofty mountain 
home. There are ample piazzas all around, and underneath 
them in front the nurses have taken possession with their 
perambulators, — this locality being known as " Baby-coach- 
town." The English sparrows have also come all the way 
out from Philadelphia and established a colony here, who 
have their hands full at fighting the native birds. Nestling 
in the shady groves around the house are about twenty-five 
cottages, making quite a large settlement. To these the sur- 
plus guests overflow from the hotel. A pleasant board walk 
leads down to St. Ignatius' Spring, while on the grounds are 
encamped a colony of Indians, who gain a civilized living by 
making bows, baskets, and bead-work, and selling them to 
the guests, while the little folks look on in awe in momentary 
expectation of being scalped. 

Sitting on the broad piazza in the early morning, just as 
the sun comes peeping over the Alleghenies to the eastward, 
the view is charming. Everything is quiet, the solemn silence 
broken only by the singing of the birds, for the guests who 
were so lively at last night's hop have not yet crawled out of 
bed. The sky is perfectly clear, though the low clouds hang 
over the valley down in front of the sloping lawn, along which 
the railway runs far below, but we can see over these little 
clouds to the forest on the hill beyond. Scarcely any wind 
is blowing, for there is hardly breeze enough to carry away 
the steam from the locomotive standing on the railway just 
beyond the little bridge, and it hangs in a huge cloud-bank 
over the smoke-stack. All the lower grounds are covered 
with the little fleecy clouds, that gradually condense and dis- 
sipate before the rising sun. All is serene and silent about 
the house, excepting where a guest may have strayed out to 
saunter down the footwalks to the spring or the railway sta- 
tion ; or a servant may be attending to the early morning 
cleansing on the steps and porches. But the birds are thor- 
oughly alive in all the surrounding groves, and are singing 
merrily in every direction. The lawn, with its overhanging 
trees, slopes down to the railway ; and beyond, where there 



226 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

is farm-land, the ground slopes up again to a forest, whicli 
closes the view, all the fields on the hill-side being divided by 
neat white fences. The surface on this portion of the Alle- 
gheny Mountain top is gently rolling, and the scene a little 
later in the morning, when life has been reawakened about 
the house and the flag has been raised on the tall staff in 
front, and the young people have come out to play lawn-ten- 
nis and the babies to roll about in hammocks, or on the grass, 
and the loungers have set out their chairs under the trees, is 
bewitching. The trains run in endless procession along the 
railway, — those westward-bound going swiftly down the hill, 
while the east-bound trains toil laboriously up, with locomo- 
tives pushing as well as pulling. It is an August morning, 
but the air is keen, and inside the spacious halls the more 
delicate guests cluster around* the cheerful blaze in the open 
English fireplaces, wood being plenty up here to make a good 
old-fashioned fire. In the centre of the hall, set up in capa- 
cious coolers, are all the mineral waters of the place, with 
those of Bedford and Minnequa Springs. You can take your 
choice and your medicine to suit ; the less you need them 
probably the more you drink. The guests solemnly step up 
to this congregation of water-coolers and take their morning 
drinks, — not without grimaces, perhaps, as they detect the 
ancient, rusty, tin- can flavor in the product of the iron spring, 
or have their labial muscles drawn awry by the alum-water, 
but they protest they relish it. Like the love for beer and 
spirits, possibly, this is an acquired taste, but the fluid in 
these coolers, taste it well or ill, has made most of the fame 
of Cresson Springs. Dr. Jackson, who first discovered their 
medicinal value, spent years in building up his Sanitarium 
here, which was the original hotel, and still stands, not far 
from the station. He labored to establish at Cresson " a 
grand sanitarium, where the mentally and physically diseased 
dwellers in those moral excrescences in the body politic — 
great cities — could come and be cured by the action of God's 
pure air and water." The medical philanthropist succeeded, 
and the great cities still send out their cohorts to his Sanitarium. 

THE OLD PORTAGE ROAD. 

About a mile south of Cresson runs the line of the 
abandoned Portage Railroad, now used as a wagon-road, .and 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 227 

said to be the best highway in all this country. I took a 
ride out to see it, going over a rough, stony wagon- track 
through the woods to reach the place. This is not a famous 
agricultural region ; they cannot raise much good crops on 
the rough and broken ground, and rarely attempt to plant 
wheat or corn. What little they raise is oats, rye, or buck- 
wheat, the cold and general sterility starving the other crops. 
There are little cabins along the wagon-track at intervals, 
and the cows with their tinkling bells wander around at will. 
AVe reach the Portage road after some rough riding, and find 
it a fine and almost level highway with the great square 
blocks of stone, to which, in the earlier days, they fastened 
the railroad tracks, still there in four long rows. We drive 
along the level between Planes 4 and 5, on the smooth road, 
occasionally jolting over these big stones. Sheep were pas- 
turing, and pigs wallowing in the mud-holes, but there were 
few travellers on the once famous highway. The farmers as 
we passed were threshing in primitive style with flails, and 
we drove to the head of Plane No. 4 and looked down the in- 
cline to the level below and far away. Some of the remains of 
the old engine-house which furnished the power to draw the 
cars up still remained at the summit. Turning about we 
drove along the level to Plane No. 5. Down in the valley to 
the westward could be seen the Pennsylvania Railroad, with 
here and there the black exit of an abandoned coal-mine in 
the hill-side. So backward is the season up here that the 
oats were still green, and some of the clearings were yet 
almost covered with field daisies, though it was August. The 
sheep appear to thrive up here among the stones, as they can 
get a living on ground where anything else would starve. 
Thus we rode along the two miles of the Portage on the 
" level," which had a gently descending grade, and found 
that the blackberries, which had disappeared on the low- 
lands, were still red and just ripening on this elevated land. 
Not far from this part of the road are the Cresson Iron and 
Alum Springs. A short walk leads up to them, where they 
come out of the hill-side. The Iron Spring has been pro- 
tected by a little shed, and its waters run down over the 
stones, making them look as if covered with iron-rust. Quite 
a flow comes from this spring. The Alum Spring bubbles out 
at the foot of a beautiful green tree near by, whose roots it 



228 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

laves. The current also discolors the ground over which it 
runs with iron-rust. The region around these famous medi- 
cinal springs looks rather desolate, with a few scattered 
cabins, and a hill beyond sloping upwards to a wood of 
stunted trees. But patriotism rules even up here, and a flag 
flies on top of one of the cabins in front of the springs. My 
little girl takes copious draughts of the alum water, explaining 
that she has been informed it is good for a sore throat. She 
don't make a very wry face, but says it tastes better than the 
iron-spring alongside, which is " horrible." Why is it that 
in this world all healthy things are so bad tasted ? The two 
springs unite their waters in a small stream, and this flows 
towards Cresson to join the headwaters of the Conemaugh, 
thence running down to medicate the people at Johnstown 
and along that famous river the Kiskiminetas. A pleasant 
walk of a mile through the woods has been laid out between 
these springs and the hotel. 

Continuing our drive, we crawl up Plane No. 5, towards 
the summit of the mountain. This inclined plane is about a 
half-mile long, and rises two hundred feet. The road is 
rough, for the rains on the top of the mountain have made 
a water-course of the hill and washed all the dirt off the 
stones. The age of the Portage road is demonstrated by the 
big trees, growing out of the rocky sides of the cuttings, 
some of which are very deep, and almost covered with 
running vines. At the top of this inclined plane are some 
little houses, and a hotel or two, making the village of Suni- 
mitville, with a little graveyard, full of white tombstones. 
We drive for a mile and a half along the elevated road 
towards the top of the mountain. All the children by the 
roadside look healthy. They may be ragged, but they thrive 
on the mountain air, and our driver tells us that the only 
cause of death up here is old age. We reach the highest 
point to which a wagon can drive on top of the Alleghenies, 
and get a grand view over the mountain peaks northward, 
extending for eighteen miles, at which distance a church- 
steeple can be seen. The view is restricted, however; 
everything around seems as high as your own elevated perch, 
and this spoils much of the magnificence. The extreme top 
of the mountain, to which we go along a by-road, is mostly 
wooded, with a few fields fenced in, where the children are 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 229 

picking berries, the chief crop on the mountain top. We 
leave the road and drive along a narrow path across the top 
of the mountain, through the thick woods, and among the 
logs and stones and dense undergrowth of the primitive 
forest. It is one of the finest rides through wild-wood 
scenery the visitor can take. Beautiful ferns and wild-flowers 
grow on all sides, but we could scarcely look at them, our 
heads were kept so busy at dodging the overhanging vines 
and branches, which occasionally scratched the face or 
whisked off a hat. The mountain path brought us out on the 
Portage again, and we went farther along it on the summit, 
still through the wood, with the grass and mosses, in places, 
almost covering the roadway. There were beautiful vista 
views through the trees, and the smell of the green spruce 
and pine foliage, deepened by the dew and borne on the cool 
air, was delicious. Again we came out at the edge of the 
mountain, and could see as far as eyesight could carry over 
the hazy hills far off to the north. Returning through Sum- 
mitville, we get a sight of its pleasant houses and the Catholic 
church, with a pretty flower garden in front of the priest's 
house. This is said to be the only church on the mountain- 
top, and seeing it is a reminder of how carefully that church 
looks after the religious training of its flock in all out-of-the- 
way places. Not far away is the " Mountain Brewery," for 
they must have beer, even on top of the Alleghenies. Re- 
turning by the wagon road, we come into the hotel grounds 
again, with the fresh air blowing briskly as we pass the rows 
of outlying cottages, and drive up to the porch, where the 
ladies are knitting and the gentlemen indulging in small-talk 
in groups on the grounds and piazzas. 



20 



230 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

XXXI. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILROAD. 
DOWN THE CONEMAUGH. 

We will to-day leave the pleasant house at Cresson to con- 
tinue our westward journey down the Allegheny Mountain 
side. The train we take runs steadily down grade, but the 
slope is not so steep as on the eastern side of the mountain, 
nor is the scenery so grand. We run through much woods, 
upon which, however, the farmers' clearings are making steady 
inroads. Coal underlies the whole country, and the stations 
are chiefly outlets for the coal-mines. Such are Sonman and 
Portage, Summerhill and South Fork, and in most places the 
coal-mining is varied with timber-cutting, and the saw-mills 
are making their board piles and reducing the forests by the 
process. We soon skirt along the upper waters of the Cone- 
maugh, steadily growing into a broader stream on our right 
hand as the train swiftly runs down the gradual slope of the 
mountain. The railway makes some grand sweeping bends 
around the edges of the hills and goes through frequent cut- 
tings as the engineers have carved its way among the rocks. 
There are wild gorges running up into the mountains, and as 
the stream becomes wider there are more signs of general 
settlement as we run through a region that seems an almost 
continuous coal measure. As we go around the curves the 
long Pullman coaches swing about at a lively rate, for we are 
running at high speed on the Chicago express, darting fre- 
quently over a bridge across our close companion the Cone- 
maugh. The black holes that go into the coal-mines are de- 
tected among the woods on the hill-sides, with little villages 
of workmen's houses near by and a branch railway usually 
running up to receive the coal. In some cases the coal comes 
down long inclined planes built upon the mountain. Heavy 
coal-trains, with engines pushing, are passed on the east-bound 
tracks, toiling up the mountain. In some places the rapidly 
flowing river falls more quickly than the railway, although 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 231 

we are on a steady down grade. Thus we come to Mineral 
Point, where large amounts of fire-ehiy are mined, and near 
it cross the Conemaugh at an elevation of eighty feet on a 
beautiful stone viaduct with a single span. The scenery, 
which has been rather tame, now becomes more attractive. 
Beautiful vistas open, and we glide among higher hills and 
deeper gorges. Five miles beyond the viaduct we run into 
the town of Conemaugh, with its furnaces, and its two villages 
set on either bank of the river, between the high ranges of 
hills, and a great aggregation of cars on the spreading tracks. 
This station is regarded as the base of the western slope of 
the mountain, as Altoona is on the eastern side. Here the 
extra ^ pushers" are put on to help the heavy trains up the 
hill. It was an important place in the days of the Portage, 
when the transfer was here made from the railway to the 
canal. Now it is more a suburb of Johnstown than an inde- 
pendent region, its iron and coal industries being carried on 
by the Cambria Iron Company of that place. 

kickenapawling's old town. 

Two miles farther on our train stops at Johnstown, amid 
its great iron-mills and mountains of slag, while coal and iron 
and piles of rails are in profusion all around. Here is the 
Cambria Iron Company, the greatest iron and steel mining 
and manufacturing corporation in the United States, if not 
in the world. It employs seven thousand persons and does 
an annual business of ten millions. Its shares are quoted 
far above par. Its mines and furnaces spread over three 
counties. The Conemaugh Valley here is narrow, being but 
a few hundred feet wide, and bounded by high hills. In the 
hill to the westward are vast deposits of semi-bituminous 
coal, exposed to view, which make most excellent coke. On 
the other side of the valle}^, in the hill to the southward are 
veins of iron ore, coal, and limestone. Nature carved out 
this place especially for the Welsh miners and metal-workers 
to come here and grow rich upon her treasures. They have 
a great company owning over fifty thousand acres of coal and 
iron lands, with sixty acres covered by the works at Johns- 
town, that turn out over one hundred thousand tons of iron 
and steel yearly. The company has its own railways, broad 
and narrow gauge, for use in the works and mines, covering 



232 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

thirty- six miles of track and employing eleven locomotives 
of all sizes, from the largest down to a little fellow only four 
feet high, called the "Dwarf." This iron city of to-day is 
on the picturesque site of the Indian settlement at the junc- 
tion of Stoney Creek with the Conemaugh, and known as 
" Kickenapawling's Old Town," two hundred and seventy-six 
miles from Philadelphia. When the venturesome whites 
came across the Alleghenies, there was among them Joseph 
Jahns, a hardy German, who settled here ninety years ago, 
and gave the place his name. As the Welsh came in they 
soon changed Jahnstown to Johnstown, and the thrift that 
started from the State works was continued by the iron com- 
pany, and the railway that subsequently came along. All 
the trade to and from the West originally floated past here 
along the Conemaugh to the Allegheny, and thence to the 
Ohio River. 

The train starts up again and takes us out of town past 
the great mills seen to advantage across the river, and down 
the valley where it broadens, and there are some farms on 
the level land. The scenery is superb as we swing around 
the curves and get fine views along the river reaches. Pass- 
ing the fire-brick works at Sheridan, the valley narrows again, 
with high hills on either hand, and thus we pass through 
Sang Hollow, where the signal-tower is built on top of the 
station, but there is scarcely another house in sight. The 
scenery is magnificent, the dense vegetation everywhere 
blooming into tropical luxuriance on the hills and in the 
narrow valley. As we speed along, the opposite hill slopes 
upward, covered with primitive forest to its top. We run 
through the narrow pass for a long distance, the stream 
alongside being shallow and full of rocks, while here and 
there a big boulder has rolled down the hill. and stands up in 
the water. We pass the abandoned Conemaugh furnace as 
we cross the border into Westmoreland County, foliage partly 
covering the ruins, and, having run out of the pass, come to 
Nineveh, where the railway which has come northeast from 
Johnstown, bends with the river southwest again. The val- 
ley once more broadens. We speed over fields and through 
the woods across an almost level plain, beyond which the 
river, now a wide stream, meanders. Passing Nineveh and 
Florence we come to Lockport, where a pretty arched bridge 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 233 

is thrown across the river. This was one of the aqueducts 
of the now-abandoned canal, and it stands there a monument 
of the olden time. 

THE PACK-SADDLE AND THE KISKIMINETAS. 

Rushing past smoking coke-ovens and other evidences of 
coal-mining, the valley again narrows and the railway runs 
into another deep and winding gorge, with the river far be- 
neath us. As the gorge bends grandly around to the west- 
ward, there is a magnificent bit of landscape. This is at 
Bolivar, and the ravine through which we are passing is the 
famous Pack-saddle Narrows of the Conemaugh, one of the 
finest passes along its beautiful valley. Its scenery is of the 
greatest beauty, but the only misfortune is that it does not last 
long enough, for we here emerge from the Alleghenies on their 
western side, this Pack-saddle forming a fitting portal to the 
gorgeous scenery that began at Rockville, on the Susque- 
hanna, from which the great railway has brought us nearly 
two hundred miles through the mountain ranges. We come 
out of the mountains through the Chestnut Ridge, twelve 
hundred feet high, at Blairsville Intersection, where the rail- 
way leaves the Conemaugh, turning southwest again and seek- 
ing a route through another valley. Here starts off the West- 
ern Pennsylvania Railroad, which continues down the Cone- 
maugh Valley until it reaches the Allegheny River. In its 
route it passes the town of Saltsburg, for the whole valley is 
a land of the salt-makers, their wells being frequent along 
the route, while at Saltsburg comes in the Loyalhanna Creek. 
Below their confluence the stream becomes famous, for it is 
that river renowned throughout the land for the care with 
which its member of Congress looks after its interest in the 
River and Harbor Bill, — the Kiskiminetas. The town of 
Blairsville, named in honor of Blair, who lived at Blair's 
Gap, is not far away from the intersection, and thence an- 
other branch extends up to the Indiana County seat, where 
the main highway of the town is called Philadelphia Street. 
The Isabella Coke Works here illuminate the country all 
around at night, with their long lines of fire. 

Our railway having turned southwest runs along the westr 
em base of the Chestnut Ridge through which we came at 
the Pack-saddle. The country is a vast coal-mine on the 

20* 



234 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

lulls to the eastward, while the rolling land to the west of 
the line is partly cultivated. We pass the little station at 
Hillside, celebrated for the " Great Bear Cave" in the 
mountain not far away, where the visitor can go through 
tortuous windings and into immense chambers studded with 
stalactites for a distance of over a mile under ground. This 
cave is a labyrinth, with hundreds of tortuous passages, and 
like all such lonesome places it has its subterranean stream 
of water and its skeleton. A young girl stolen by gypsies 
escaped by taking refuge in the cave. She lost her way and 
perished with hunger, her bones being found years afterwards. 
No explorer is at present allowed to attempt a visit without 
taking a ball of twine, which being fastened at the entrance, 
the route can be retraced. But we rush quickly past the 
coal-mines, and in the spreading tracks at Derry and the coal- 
cars all around find abundant evidence of the vast tonnage 
the railway gets from the coal measures. Soon we come into 
the Ligonier Valley made by the Loyalhanna Creek, and 
rush past coal-shutes and coke-ovens, and over bridges, to 
the town of Latrobe scattered about the valley along this 
creek, which the railway crosses just below the town. Here 
are several refrigerator-cars constructing, and the place has a 
lively air of business. 

GREEN.SBURG AND HANNASTOWN. 

Having left the Loyalhanna and Ligonier Valley, the rail- 
way starts westward up the grade towards Greensburg, through 
a thrifty forming region, with patches of woodland, the ground 
gradually developing some moderate-sized mountains, through 
the spurs of which the railroad goes by deep cuttings. Plenty 
of east-bound trains pass us as we glide through several short 
tunnels, and, coming out on the western side of one of them, 
reach Greensburg, which spreads down the hill-side and south 
of the railway, the train stopping long enough to give the 
passengers a chance to study a huge circus display bill on a 
big board fence. The town is prettily situated, with the 
houses embowered in trees, and it spreads over a large sur- 
face, three hundred and twenty-three miles west of Philadel- 
phia. Greensburg is the county-seat of Westmoreland County, 
of which the earliest settlement was the building of Robert 
Hanna's house, a short distance out of the town, towards the 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 235 

north. This house attracted about thirty hi<^- cabins, which, 
in the course of time, became dignified into Hannastown, 
well known in the early history of Western Pennsylvania. 
Here was held the first court west of the Allegheny Moun- 
tains, and here also were passed the patriotic resolutions of 
]May 16, 1775, just after the battle of Lexington. Here, 
during the Revolution, first appeared Greneral Arthur St. 
Clair, who had emigrated from Scotland, and lived in an 
humble house not far away on Chestnut Ridge. He had 
been the British commander at Fort Ligonier. During the 
Revolution the Indians attacked the settlers, and at the close 
of the war the whites retaliated with great barbarity. Sub- 
sequently a war to exterminate the Indians was determined 
upon, and in 1782, Colonel William Crawford's expedition 
was sent against the Wyandottes, but was defeated. The 
Indians then wreaked a terrible venoeance, raiding West- 
moreland County in July, 1782, and burning Hannastown. 
The place was never rebuilt. Peace came afterwards, but the 
glory of the town had departed. In May, 1875, at Greens- 
burg was celebrated the centenary of the Hannastown resolu- 
tions with great spirit. The remains of General St. Clair lie 
in the Presbyterian church-yard at Greensburg, the monument 
over them rebuking the parsimony of Congress, which per- 
mitted him to suffer from poverty in his old age, bearing this 
significant inscription : " The earthly remains of Major-General 
Arthur St. Clair are deposited beneath this humble monument, 
which is erected to supply the place of a nobler one due from 
his country." He died in 1818, aged eighty-four. 

Greensburg, which appeared soon after Hannastown was 
obliterated, is one of the wealthiest towns in Western Penn- 
sylvania, for Westmoreland is a region of coal-mines and rich 
agriculture. Our train starts again over a land of broad acres 
of good farms, though the hills are high and the valleys 
deep. These are now the railway cliaracteristics all the way 
on to Pittsburg. The whole line also becomes a succession of 
coal mines and coke-ovens, with workmen's houses perched 
on the slopes of the hills. We rush past the locations of sev- 
eral famous Philadelphia coal companies, for we have come 
into the region of the gas coals, and the great deposit extends 
westward to Pittsburg and southward to the valley of the 
Monongahela. 



236 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

COAL-MINING AND COKE-BURNING. 

Five miles west of Greensburg are the dominions of the 
Penn Gas-Coal Company, where the railway runs alongside 
another little stream. Here they get the gas-coals that are 
shipped over the mountains to supply the eastern cities. The 
mining is done by shafting on an extensive scale, the coal 
being raised to the surfiice by steam-power and loaded in cars 
for shipment. Branch lines of railway extend through the 
hills in all directions to the mouths of the shafts, and from 
Penn they will ship a thousand tons a day. Thus we run 
through the gas-coal region, through Manor, which is located 
on one of Penn's original manor tracts, past Shafton and 
Irwin. Here are more lands of the Penn Company, and also 
mines of the Shafton and Westmoreland Coal Companies. 
The entire region is full of coal-cars, mines, and shafts, while 
the little streams, in the yellow hue of their beds, show 
the presence of iron springs. Within a space of ten miles 
along this part of the railroad will be mined and sent to mar- 
ket nearly a million and a half tons of gas-coal annually. 
Irwin is probably the chief village of this great settlement. 
The surface land is fertile, but the coal-mines do not permit 
a great amount of cultivation, though some good fiirming is 
done! As we run swiftly by these great coal measures there 
are also long lines of smoking coke-ovens, and the railway 
occasionally darts through a short tunnel. There is a big 
nest of coke-ovens at Larimer, a mile beyond Irwin. 

Running a few miles farther we come to Walls, where they 
make up the accommodation trains for the suburbs of Pittsburg, 
fifteen miles from that city. As at Philadelphia, the Penn- 
sylvania Railroad here runs a great number of local trains for 
the accommodation of suburban residents, and the railway is 
dotted at every mile by pretty stations. The coal-mines are 
thick, and at Turtle Creek we enter Allegheny County, the 
stream alongside the road zigzagging so that we have to fre- 
quently cross it. The characteristics of Pittsburg are evi- 
dent as we approach the city through the deep valleys in the 
evening, amid the overhanging clouds and smoke. At ten 
miles from Pittsburg we reach Braddock's, the station being 
located at the scene of Braddock's memorable defeat, then 
in a thick forest, but now a scene of busy industry. It was 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 237 

here that the rebellious force in the " Whisky Insurrection' 
assembled and marched upon Pittsburg. The great Edgar 
Thomson Steel-Works are now in full operation over in the 
Monongahela Valley, not far from thu station. But with all 
the coal mining and coke-burning and steel-making down in 
the valleys about here, and the vast clouds of smoke they pro- 
duce, there still are pretty villas perched up on the hills, 
showing that good taste exists, even though it may be under 
difficulties. The railway broadens into four sets or tracks to 
accommodate the immense traffic at the terminus, and we pass. 
Wilkinson just outside the Pittsburg city limits, in a land of 
market gardens, underlaid with coal which is taken out at the 
rate of a half a million tons a year. We have been running 
not far away from the Monongahela River, but leave it and 
go northward around the base of the enormous hills that 
environ Pittsburg. The frequent stations that we glide by 
are finely built and ornamented with flower gardens, but smoke 
overhangs everything, and thus we rush past the great aggre- 
gation of stock-cars and freight-cars at Liberty, five miles out 
of town. A few minutes more rushing through the smoke 
brings us past the houses, cars, and people as we run through 
the valley into the station just at dusk. The first welcomes 
to the " Smoky City," as the passengers get oiF the cars, are 
the shouts, in stentorian tones above the general din, of " sup- 
per" from the squad of men who guide the way to the station 
restaurant. The hurrying passengers make a general rush 
for the tables, before continuing the journey westward, for 
here at three hundred and fifty-four miles from Philadelphia 
the Pennsylvania main line ends, dividing at this station 
into the " Pan-Handle route" on the left hand for Cincinnati 
and St. Louis, and the " Fort Wayne route" on the right 
hand for Cleveland and Chicago. With ravenous appetites 
and very dirty faces, the duster-clad throng sit down at the 
tables, and are quickly supplied by the nimble waiters. We 
are told that bituminous coal-smoke is health}^, so that prob- 
ably the dirtier-faced a traveller gets in this region the more 
robust will become his constitution. What an exuberantly 
healthy party, therefore, must that have been which came with 
me to Pittsburg, — if their begrimed countenances were any 
indication. Thus closed our journey in one of the most pros- 
perous American cities, for Pittsburg from its coal and iron 



238 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

extracts wealth ; and, if it does look from the surrounding 
hill-tops like a reproduction of Pandemonium, with the lurid 
glare and vast clouds of smoke rising from its aggregation of 
chimneys, the " Smoky City" is, nevertheless, a region of 
warm hospitality and marked business success. 



XXXII. 

THE KEADING KAILEOAD. 
THE NORTH PENNSYLVANIA ROUTE. 

Let us make a journey to-day out the North Pennsylvania 
Railroad, leading northward to Bethlehem, on the Lehigh 
River. It takes us through the northern Philadelphia 
suburbs, past the drove-yard and over the extensive regions 
west of Kensington, that have so recently been built up, 
across the Connecting Railroad and out among the suburban 
villas. It soon runs into Montgomery County, and skirts 
along the ancient avenue known as the " Old York Road," 
which is now the highway to the rural houses of so many 
opulent Philadelphians. It passes many a magnificent subur- 
ban home in the region of Oak Lane, Ashbourne, and Chelten 
Hills, and goes not far away from the famous estate of 
" Ogontz," built by Jay Cooke in his day of great fame and 
fortune, which has recently, after many vicissitudes of both 
owner and house, come back into his possession again. The 
line runs through a rolling country in the neighborhood of 
the Chelten Hills, with diversified hill and vale and plenty 
of woodland, through many rocky cuttings, and the express- 
train glides past several pretty stations as the locomotive 
makes a steady pull up grade. Long trains of coal-cars pass 
us coming down to the city with the black diamonds of the 
Lehigh hard anthracite region. The heavy rock-cuttings 
show that the North Pennsylvania line was a costly railway 
to build. We reach Jenkintown, ten miles out, where the 
Bound Brook route starts off northeastward towards New 
York, and halt a moment to look at the attractive stone sta- 



THE READING RAILROAD. 239 

tion, with its background of dark green trees. Then we 
rush on again over the rolling country, with much farm-land 
and a great deal of woods, past Abington, where the North- 
east Pennsylvania Railroad starts off towards the ancient 
town of Hatboro', on the headwaters of the Penny pack, to 
which the Old York Road goes, and whose old-time inhabi- 
tants distinguished themselves as manufacturers of hats, 
though they don't do so any more. This is the original town 
of the " Crooked Billet," so called from the name of its inn, 
and Graeme Park, the home of Sir William Keith, is still in 
good preservation there. 

Our train rushes on through Edge Hill and skirting the 
land of Moreland and the Willowgrove, till, mounting on the 
higher ground, we can get long views ahead, over the corn- 
fields, of the blue ridges of the distant hills of Gwynedd and 
North Wales. We pass the historical region of Fort Wash- 
ington, now devoted to the peaceful pursuit of providing for 
the summer out-of-town boarder, and rush through the rocks 
and over the farm -land, past the village of Ambler, with its 
graceful avenue of poplars leading eastward from the railway. 
Then we run into the country of the ancient Welsh Quakers, 
where the land becomes more level as we pass Penllyn, and 
is highly cultivated, for the Quaker farmers, who originally 
settled here, were excellent judges of good farm-land. We 
pass the low shed-like station at Gwynedd, the platforms 
filled with milk-cans, and then cross the valley beyond on a 
high embankment, and running into the woods on the ridge 
on the northern side of the valley, go into the deep rock- 
cuttings and through the North Wales tunnel. This was one 
of the earliest regions of settlement in Montgomery County, 
and its people came from Wales, and gave Welsh thrift and 
Welsh names to the entire country hereabout. They came 
as early as 1697, but were not then all Quakers, for one of 
the ancient chronicles of the Society of Friends says, " A 
place called North Wales was settled by many of the ancient 
Britons, an honest-inclined people, although they had not 
then made a profession of the truth as held by us ; yet in a 
little time a large convincement was among them, and divers 
meeting-houses were built." The Welsh name of " Gwynedd" 
was given to the region in 1698, and this translated into 
English means " North Wales." Here began the " Welsh 



2-10 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

line," a tract of forty thousand acres extending across Mont- 
gomery, Chester, and Delaware Counties ; and here originally 
came two devout Quakers, John Hughes and John Humphrey, 
who worked so energetically that they soon secured the '' large 
convincement" among their neighbors, and as early as 1700 
Lad built a meeting-house at North Wales, while the Gwynedd 
meeting dates from 1714:. 

DOYLESTOWN AND QUAKERTOWN. 

The cars rush on through this historic region, and we soon 
strike the old red sandstone strata, and the region of dark 
red soils, near Lansdale, where we halt, while the train-hands 
are busied with that frequent railway annoyance, a " hot box." 
This is the Doylestown Junction, though we are still in Mont- 
gomery County. A branch road runs off northeastward 
towards the county-seat of Bucks County, located among the 
sources of the Neshaminy Creek. Lansdale, at the junction, 
is an extensive town, with many comfortable houses, and 
enough trees to almost hide many of them. Here, as the 
train-hands are throwing water on the " hot box," and the 
conductor impatiently looks at his watch, for the annoyance 
puts him " behind time," we can look up the branch line 
towards the northeast, down which General Davis comes from 
his pleasant home when he runs out of news for the Doyles- 
town Democrat^ and concludes to brighten up his ideas by a 
visit to the city. Away off over there are the blue outlines 
of the hazy hills that are the outposts of the Blue Ridge. 
It was this branch railway that, twenty years ago, infused 
new life into Doylestown after it had slumbered for over a 
century. It is now one of the most flourishing of the 
smaller towns of the State. 

The train starts up again through orchards and cornfields, 
and past the little village churches and graveyards, and over 
the red soil of what is now an almost level region, that is 
well cultivated by its Quaker inhabitants. The railway 
crosses frequent country roads at grade, requiring almost 
continuous practice on the steam whistle. Near Telford, 
about thirty miles from Philadelphia, we cross the line from 
Montgomery into the ancient county of Buckingham, one of 
the three original counties into which Pennsylvania was di- 
vided, and called Bucks for short. There are thrifty farm- 



THE READING RAILROAD. 241 

houses seen in all directions, and soon the railroad begins to 
run through rock-cuttings again, the jagged edges of the 
rough-hewn sandstone standing up like walls on either side. 
From Telford there is a fine view over the valley to the w^est- 
ward as we rush through the village and cross its chocolate- 
colored streets. Here slate roofs and even slate walls begin 
to appear on the houses, as we approach the great slate-pro- 
ducing region to the northward. We are among the hills 
again, the road twisting along the spurs of the ridges, to seek 
the easiest gradient, and we rush through Sellersville, of 
which little can be seen, excepting that some of its streets 
seem almost set on edge, they are so steep. The old Allen- 
town turnpike goes through the town, and the people are 
great cigar manufacturers, shipping their product down to 
Philadelphia to be put in Spanish-labelled boxes. The head- 
waters of the Perkiomen Creek come from the hills near Sel- 
lersville, and north of the town rises the mountain ridge of 
Hockhill, extending like a great backbone across the county. 
As the railway grade steadily rises and we go swiftly along 
the hill-sides there are fine views over the valleys, and after a 
most beautiful yet brief panorama is exhibited, extending far 
away to the Delaware River, we suddenly swing around a 
curve and rush into the tunnel through Pvockhill. Emerging 
on the northern side we find ourselves in an almost wholly 
different region, rushing through rocks and boulders to the 
rich and level meadows of the flat valley of Tohiekon Creek, 
where the borough of Quakertown stands. We stop a mo- 
ment in the thriving village, thirty-nine miles from Philadel- 
phia, with its broad streets and plain though comfortable 
houses, to let the Friends have a glimpse of us, and the pas- 
sengers quickly discover that some foreigner has set up a 
beer-saloon near the station. Quakertown is in a great hay- 
growing country, and sends its team-loads of timothy down 
to Philadelphia. Here the Friends from Gwynedd estab- 
lished a meeting as early as 1710, and made a burial-ground 
where the Quakers and Indians after dwelling together in 
amity commingled their dust. Time has obliterated both the 
meeting-house and graveyard. The railway has greatly in- 
creased this town, as it has all of them along its line, and 
this reminds me that, before the Rebellion, Quakertown was 
a prominent station on that mysterious thoroughfare known 
L ^ 21 



242 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

as the " Underground Railroad." The runaway slaves came 
here by night from Westchester, also a station, were con- 
cealed by the Friends, and then transported in wagons on 
their road to Canada to the next station at Stroudsburg. 
Sometimes a dozen came in one party, and were cared for and 
passed on. 

BINGEN AND BETHLEHEM. 

"We get rid of our annoying " hot box" at Quakertown, by 
sending the car on a siding near the beer saloon to cool off. 
Then the train runs across the level valley and in among the 
liills on its northern side, where the rocks are liberally sown 
and poke up their dark gray weather-worn and moss-covered 
heads among the fields. The agriculturist up here evidently 
works for his living, and it would command a pretty good 
premium to plough a straight furrow over some of these 
fields, the boulders are strewn so thickly. We run out of 
Bucks and into Lehigh County, and, as we approach Coopers- 
burg, there is a magnificent view over the valley to the west- 
ward, the village sloping down the hill-side. The railway 
now crosses the valley, for we are passing over the lower cor- 
ner of Lehigh County, and runs along the hills of the South 
Mountain range. Here we pass the little station of Bingen, 
which does not look much like its namesake on the Rhine, 
although some of the women are working in the fields, as 
many of the German women do in the Fatherland. Bingen 
has a fine mansard-roofed house near the station, while be- 
yond it a pretty little brook runs over a stony bed, the rail- 
way keeping it company a little way. Then, amid the knobby- 
topped and tree-clad hills that border the Lehigh River we 
pass Hellertown in Northampton County, standing in a fruit- 
ful region near Saucon Creek. We rush through more rock- 
cuttings on the down grade with whistle blowing and wheels 
humming, and then out of the cuttings and into South Beth- 
lehem, with its great iron-works spread along the Lehigh 
River. Most of the chimneys are dead, for in summer time 
the blast furnaces are generally idle, but the foundries and 
rolling-mills are going. We run some distance through the 
town, and finally close our North Pennsylvania Railroad 
journey by passing on the tracks of the Lehigh Valley Rail- 
road, the junction being a fine brick station, with an orna- 



THE READING RAILROAD. 243 

mental slate roof and surmounting cupola. Coal-ears are 
moving along th(5 Lehigh, and to the southward the green- 
sward slopes up the sides of the bordering hills, the town 
being spread on both sides of the pretty little river that runs 
along the bottom of the valley. 

Bethlehem is the ancient settlement of the Moravians, who 
began to build the town in 1741, and a few years afterwards 
established here the " Crown Inn," the first public house on 
the Lehigh, on ground now occupied by the railway station. 
They soon acquired the title to fourteen hundred acres of 
land, which were the " Moravian Farms" of the last century, 
the site of what is now South Bethlehem. It was the dis- 
covery of zinc here nearly forty years ago, and the subsequent 
establishment of the works of the Lehigh Zinc Company, 
that promoted the growth of South Bethlehem, then known 
as Augusta, but called by its present name for the last sixteen 
years. Within the past twenty years the Bethlehem Iron 
Company, now a large establishment, has grown out of small 
beginnings, until it covers many acres of land and employs 
two thousand men. The town is a pleasant one, with very 
fine residences, the western portion sloping up the hill, and 
on the mountain side, not far away, is the magnificent Packer 
Hall and the surrounding buildings of the native sandstone, 
which make up Asa Packer's munificent endowment of the 
Lehigh University, standing in a wooded park. Over on the 
other side of the Lehigh is the ancient and original Bethle- 
hem, distanced perhaps by the more modern splendor of its 
suburb, but still stately and proud of its pedigree. It was 
here that Bishop David Nitschman, from Moravia, came in 
1741 to found the city that was the first and the chief settle- 
ment of the Moravians in this country, and for a century it 
remained a close denominational settlement. It is an odd old 
town, built mostly of brick, on high ground skirting the north 
bank of the Lehigh, every house, apparently, being slate- 
roofed. Many are the relics shown of the ancient rule of 
the Moravians, who dwelt here in a sort of Communism, and, 
with South Bethlehem, it is probably the largest town of the 
Lehigh Valley. For a century they maintained most of their 
distinctive principles, such as the " Family House" arrange- 
ments, the separation of the sexes, and the exclusion of an 
additional trader in any branch, unless the amount of traffic 



244 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

would warrant his setting up business in addition to the one 
already in the trade. It was here that the Moravian " Single 
Sisters," during the Revolution, embroidered a banner and 
presented it to Count Pulaski as a reward for protecting the 
town. Many of the curious old buildings still exist. The 
Sisters' and Widows' Houses, the Congregation House, and 
the old Chapel, which has stood for one hundred and thirty 
years, are all preserved, with their furniture, broad oak stair- 
ways, flagged pavements, low rooms, and little windows, their 
gables and odd roofs contrasting strangely with the modern 
buildings around them. Bethlehem is a quaint old town, but 
furnished with a modern setting. 



XXXIII. 

THE LEHIGH VALLEY KAILROAD. 

THE LEHIGH VALLEY. 

Leating Bethlehem, let us take a ramble along the banks 
of the picturesque but crooked river which the inhabitants, in 
their Pennsylvania Grerman dialect, call the Lecha. This 
Lehigh Valley for a few miles north of Bethlehem is one of 
the greatest seats of iron manufacture in the world. A rail- 
way on each bank and a canal on the river bring down the 
coal to vast furnaces that are spread in the narrow space the 
high hills have left beside the stream. We leave the station, 
drawn by the fine new locomotive bearing, perhaps, the best 
known name in the Lehigh Valley — Asa Packer — and go 
along the southern bank on the Lehigh Valley Railroad, of 
which he was the projector and manager. The river looks 
pleasant, flowing under the overhanging trees, with a small 
steam-yacht tied to the wharf, and little foliage- covered islands 
scattered over the surface. The wind ripples the water, and 
on the island at Calypso, just above Bethlehem, there is a 
picnic party, and row-boats, some with canopied awnings, dot 
the stream. The railroad winds along the crooked bank, while 
over on the other side is the Lehigh Canal, and beyond it the 



THE LEHIGH VALLEY RAILROAD. 245 

Lehigh and Susquehanna Ptailroad, both belonging to the 
Lehigh Navigation Company, but operated by the New Jersey 
Central liaih'oad. This very tortuous river thinks nothing 
of making a sudden right-angled twist, and at times where 
the railway-builders have tried to preserve something like a 
straight line, the river bank goes far away from us and then 
comes back again. In fact, they could not run the trains at 
all if the crookedness of the railroad were equal to all the 
gyrations of the river, — the cars would most of the time be 
running off the track. We glide along the bank, often fringed 
so closely with trees that scarcely anything can be seen through 
them ; and leaving Northampton for Lehigh County, come to 
Allentown at a depression among the hills, where the river 
makes a sudden bend to the north. We all go swinging 
around the great bend, — railroads, canal, and river, — past 
plenty of iron-mills, with pig-iron and slag in profusion ; with 
coal-cars, oil-tanks, iron-cars, and car-loads of bark, and amid 
them all pass the junction of the East Pennsylvania Kailroad 
coming down from Harrisburg. We also pass the great plant 
of the Allento-wn Rolling Mills, where work is brisk, for there 
is plenty to do in this branch of the iron business, and large 
new mills have recently been erected. All around the fur- 
naces are huge mountains of slag, looking as if they were 
some immense artificial construction. They are the accumu- 
lations of years, and what to do with the heaps of refuse is 
sometimes a difficult problem for the iron-masters. 

Allentown is the ancient borough of Northampton, founded 
by James Allen just prior to the Revolution. It is a beau- 
tiful town, built on a wide plateau on the river bank, its finer 
brick residences surrounded by superb gardens, and its opu- 
lent citizens making fortunes by the many thousands of tons 
of iron they manufacture. Here is the Muhlenberg College, 
and here comes in the Perkiomen Railroad after passing from 
the Schuylkill through a thick strata of Pennsylvania Ger- 
man in Montgomery and Lehigh Counties. We run out of 
Allentown to the river bank again, wdiere a party of women 
and children are peacefully fishing; get among more shig 
heaps and more iron-mills and rolling-mills, and car-wheel 
and axle-foundries, where a pretty little bridge crosses the 
river on stone piers, and then amid another desert of slag en- 
counter the vast iron- works of Catasauqua. This is, in the 

21* 



246 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Indian vernacular, the " Thirsty Land/' though wherein the 
thirst consists is unexplained. Its iron-works are a gigantic 
institution, and dig their iron ore out of the hills around. 
The huge slag heaps almost hide the river that ripples over 
the stones in front. Most of the village is on the northern 
bank, and in front is a little dam with fish-ways. More huge 
iron-mills are on the river bank above the town, — enormous 
constructions where slag mountains run out like long spurs 
far to the westward along the bank with a railway on top to 
help haul the refuse out to the extreme end where it is dumped. 
The more prosperity there is in the iron region the bigger 
grow the slag heaps. We pass the great Thomas Iron-Works 
at Hokendauqua, and the river twists and the railway with 
it as we approach the Gap. There are more iron-mills and 
more slag at Coplay, where the Lehigh Valley Iron Company 
is located, and at Whitehall, which is the ancient Siegfried's 
Bridge. Then for a little way along the picturesque stream 
we are free from the iron-mills and their slag products. 

SLATINGTON AND THE LEHIGH GAP. 

The green hills now closely border the Lehigh, and the 
woods become thick, the railways having their routes hewn 
out of the rocks along the edge of the water on either bank, 
where the great spurs of the mountains closely press the river. 
As the water has a rapid flow, dams are made for the canal 
at frequent intervals, over which a good deal of water comes 
down. Approaching Slatington, the railway passes through 
the laminated rock cuttings, and, in swinging around the long 
reaches of the river, there are magnificent views given of the 
mountains ahead of us at the Lehigh Gap. Occasionally 
there is a corn patch on the little level places in the valley, 
but it does not seem to grow very well, and in fact the hills 
and rocks do not leave much room for agriculture. The Gap 
ahead looks like a little notch cut in the mountain range, and 
the cloud-shadows move slowly over the dark green foliage, 
covering the hills to their tops. We halt a moment at Slat- 
ington, where a little brook makes a depression in the hills, 
and up in its valley they get the slates which underlie this 
whole region. These slates are being loaded into freight cars 
alongside the station, and millions of them are sent away to 
supply the school children and the roofers, while broken slates 



THE LEHIGH VALLEY RAILROAD. 247 

lie in profusion everywhere — enough of them to hold the 
ciphering for the entire country. 

Above Slatington the great mountain range stretches across 
our path, and we run apparently directly towards it. This 
is the Kittatinny range that we have met so often in these 
rambles, and the river curves through it by the Lehigh Water 
Gap. The stream flows over a slaty bottom, drawn in almost 
straight ridges directly across it. We suddenly run into the 
notch, and go through the Gap, the railroads, river, and canal 
towpath being compressed closely together, with the rocky 
sides of the gorge standing almost perpendicularly on either 
hand. The scenery is grand, the Gap is so narrow and its 
sides so precipitous. We run out on the northern side of the 
mountain range, in Carbon County, and see two pretty little 
villas perched on promontories over across the river, — one 
embosomed in trees and the other standing boldly out on its 
rocky eminence. The valley broadens somewhat above the 
Gap, leaving room for level land at the bottom, but farming 
does not flourish, as woods cover the rocky region, which 
seems to have little soil to nourish the trees, though verdure 
clings to the rocks everywhere excepting where the railway 
builders have cut them down to get room to lay the rails. 
The river passes some more romantic but less imposing notches, 
beyond which can be seen the gray mountains around Maucli 
Chunk. Heads from the river bank go zigzag up to the 
tops of some of the steep hills, and at times the scenery is 
magnificent. 

But more slag heaps spoil the romance as we come to an- 
other nest of iron-mills at Parryville, whose chimneys are set 
in among the mountains so deep that their overhanging 
smoke seems scarcely able to get out. The stream flows over 
its pebbly bed as we continue farther up, and at Lehighton, 
across the river, find that the monotony of Lehigh coal, and 
iron, and slag, is for once varied by a pork-packing estab- 
lishment. We take off our hats to the American hog here in 
the town of the famous Gnadenhuttea burial-ground, and 
then glide on to Packerton, past the great shops and car- 
yards of the Lehigh Valley Ilailroad. Here they build their 
coal-cars by the thousands, and here, also, Judge Packer had 
his deer-park still maintained by the railway. Below Pack- 
<irton the Lehigh and Susquehanna Railroad, squeezed out by 



248 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the rocks, comes across to our side of the river, and passes 
over our heads. The two railways run for a Uttle way side 
by side, but above Packerton the huge hills compress us so 
closely that there is scarcely room for both to get along, when 
suddenly our Lehigh Valley Railroad darts across to the 
northern bank to get sufficient room, and we again run 
through the narrow space with mountains hemming us in 
and rising hundreds of feet over our heads. Then sharply 
curving around to the right we halt at the station at the foot 
of Bear Mountain, thirty-six miles from Bethlehem, and one 
hundred and twenty-six miles from Philadelphia. 

MAUCH CHUNK. 

" This is the oddest town I ever saw," generally remarks 
the visitor on first alighting at Mauch Chunk. Most things 
seem as if set on end. The steep mountains scarcely leave 
room for the houses, and the man who has a front door on 
the ground floor of his residence generally goes out of the 
back door from his third story, while the pig-sty at the end 
of the rear garden is usually elevated fifty feet above the roof. 
Mauch Chunk is certainly a queer place. The town stretches 
along a narrow strip of ground at the river's edge, and is set 
in among the mountains which curve around like a great 
basin, with the town standing in a little notch, behind which 
the great elevation of Mount Pisgah rises, with its chimney- 
topped inclined plane. You do not walk a dozen yards from 
the railway station before you halt in amazement at the novel 
sight, — river, canal, and railways, with the single street of 
the town all compressed into a narrow gorge which bends 
sharply around Bear Mountain, almost under which you 
stand. The trees hang apparently by a slender tenure to the 
steep rocks, among which the locomotive whistles re-echo 
as trains pass. The steep pathways up the hills, which are 
the only roads they have here, can be traced out in streaks 
along the mountain side. The Lehigh Valley Railroad curves 
closely around the base of Bear Mountain on the northern 
bank ; then comes the canal and river, along the southern 
bank of which also curves around the Lehigh and Susque- 
hanna Railroad. Bordering this is Mauch Chunk's main 
street, with the hotels and houses beyond, apparently built 
under the towering sides of the South Mountain. Every- 



THE LEHIGH VALLEY RAILROAD. 249 

thing is chocolate-colored by the red sandstone, and looking 
down the narrow valley its sharp bend soon takes it out of 
view ; while looking northward the distant sides of Broad 
Mountain close the background. 

Now let us cross over to the other side of the river by the 
little wooden bridge that spans the swiftly-flowing current of 
the rocky stream. The water foams below us, and runs in 
torrents from the waste weirs alongside the canal-locks, for 
however may be the drouths elsewhere they generally have 
plenty of rain in this remarkable place. We go to the hotel 
portico, where there is a flagstone set in the pavement that 
reads " welcome" as you enter, and " call again" when you 
go out. Sitting down on the piazza and looking back across 
the river, the roaring of the waters over the canal-dam just 
above, and in the rapids in front, is a reminder of Niagara in 
a small way, though the blowing of steam from a nuuiler of 
locomotives scattered about somewhat dispels the illusion. 
But the panorama in front is grand. The river comes down 
through its narrow valley from the northward, making a 
short sweep around the conical-topped Bear Mountain" in 
front. Around this strange, green-clad, sugar-loaf hill every- 
thing curves, although there seems scarcely room for them 
all,— two railroads, river, canal, and street. Long, snake-like 
trains of coal-cars move by, and the deliberate-paced mules 
draw the barges along the canal. Everything is devoted to 
coal,_ and here, probably, wanders the ghost of the famous 
Lehigh Canal boatman, Asa Packer, whose industry and fore- 
sight made the great Lehigh Valley Railroad route to get the 
hard anthracite cheaply to a distant market. Bear Moun- 
tain rises seven hundred feet high, and to the left and be- 
hind it the^ distant ridge of the" Broad Mountain shuts off 
the view, with the cloud-shadows of a gathering storm creep- 
ing across its dark green sides. For people brought up in 
the flat land about Philadelphia this is one of the oddest 
possible places to get into. They call it the " Switzerland of 
America." It is, indeed, like a miniature mountain town of 
Switzerland, but its railroads do more business in a day than 
all the Swiss lines put together for a week. For people who 
like to have their back -yards up above the roof, Mauch 
Chunk is the place to live. 

Looking northward along the single street a high hill cuts 



250 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

it off, and on top of this hill is a pretty little cemetery, while 
there are attractive villas and a fine church on the hill-sides 
below. But everything like romance is subordinated to the 
great coal traffic, the long trains moving in almost endless 
procession. The locomotives snort and whistle as they draw 
trains on the crooked roads of such great length through this 
odd mountain-pass that the locomotive generally disappears 
around one corner before the little cabin-car at the tail end 
of the train comes into view around another curve. If you 
want to realize what sort of a town this is, go to a back win- 
dow of the hotel and see the yard set on end upon the hill- 
side. The passage-ways go out of the upper windows, and 
the^^paths are stairways up the rocks. They hang the wash- 
clothes out far above your head with terraces cut to give 
standing-room, yet the lines are apparently trailed along the 
ground. The back fence is so far up the hill that it can 
scarcely be seen. This town is the county-seat of Carbon 
County. The people who happened to drop down into this 
cavity in the wilderness, about sixty years ago, gave the place 
the Indian name for the Bear Mountain, opposite which it is 
built, and the coal trade developed it. When the town got 
too big for the narrow valley in which it is built, they hunted 
out a flat place, about two hundred and fifty feet up the hill, 
and built Upper Mauch Chunk, and then sought a later out- 
let on a plane by the river-side, farther up stream, called East 
Mauch Chunk. By this process of enlargement they have 
been able to compress six or seven thousand people into the 
town, among whom, just now, two have the honor of enjoy- 
ing more fame than probably any other of the inhabitants. 
One of these is " Jim," the hotel porter, with his blue uni- 
form coat and brass buttons and smart little cap. " Jim," 
who is known to all the people along the Lehigh, was orig- 
inally a runaway slave, who escaped into Canada by the 
" Underground Railway," and whose especial forte now is to 
keep his eye upon the railway trains, and see that no passen- 
ger gets left. He is ubiquitous, being all excitement just 
before car time, when he hunts up his passengers, and those 
who put their trust in " Jim" will never get belated. The 
other famous resident of Mauch Chunk is Josiah White Er- 
skine Hazard George Augustus Frederick Hauto Brink. He 
was the first white child born in this strange town, and, in 



THE SWITCHBACK. 251 

April, 1819, when he was christened, all the chief men of 
the settlement evinced a desire to concentrate their names 
upon him. There is no record kept of what his mother 
called him " for short" when he was in childlike danger of 
tumbling into the river. But Mauch Chunk's greatest mem- 
ory is that of Asa Packer: As you look upward along the 
single street by the river, on the steep hill-side that closes 
the view is seen his former home, — a broad and comfortable 
mansion, set apparently on a terrace in the hill, with green- 
houses alongside ; while to the right hand is a more modern 
brick villa, with mansard roofs. The hill on the side of 
which they are built towers far above them, and almost over 
the top of the house is the cemetery wherein lie Asa Packer's 
earthly remains. Off to the left, in a depression at the foot 
of Mount Pisgah, is the picturesque old church, and down 
on the river-side the new castellated yellow stone church, 
with its surmounting conical- topped tower. The great rail- 
way prince, whose memory is kept green by so many here, 
was a benefactor to Mauch Chunk, and, indeed, to all the 
Lehigh Valley. His railroad trains roll out a steady requiem 
as they wind around the hill in which he is coffined. 



XXXIV. 

THE SWITCHBACK. 
CLIMBING MOUNT PISGAH. 

No visit to the Lehigh Valley is complete without a tour 
over the Switchback. We will go out of the hotel, and com- 
mingling with the people who are talking the Pennsylvania 
Dutch, walk up Mauch Chunk's single street, along the river, 
past the office of the Mauch Chunk Democrat, which is up- 
stairs, over a feed-store, in an ancient building that looks as 
if it might have been one of the earliest located on the Le- 
high. Our short walk along the street is quickly ended at 
the foot of the hill, — for thus all Mauch Chunk highways 
seem to be and to end. We climb up an iron stairway, and 



252 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES, 

get upon a narrow wagon-road, leading among the villas on 
the hill-side. Passing the first of them, in an enclosure em- 
bowered in foliage, the significant initials on the iron gate — 
" A. P."— tell that the path within leads to Asa Packer's 
former house. The white mansion inside, and the brick villa 
farther up, are covered in with running vines and foliage, 
while the rocks are piled in terraces to give the flower-beds 
a chance to hold on to the mountain -side. Still higher up 
is the stable, and they have had to actually hew out the rocks 
to get a wagon- way into the barn. We toil along the steep 
path, stopping every few minutes to take breath and get a 
look back at the town beneath our feet. Photographers are 
up here taking views of Mauch Chunk and of Bear Moun- 
tain, across the narrow valley. To aggravate the natives who 
live among these rocks, they have Coney Island excursion- 
bills posted on the fences, praising the glories of the wooden 
palaces and tinselled summer show that goes on at that dead 
level sand- spit, where a rock the size of your fist would com- 
mand a premium. We come out at the top of the hill, about 
two hundred and fifty feet above Mauch Chunk, where the 
little station of the Switchback Road is located. Arrived 
there, yet only at the foot of Mount Pisgah, we gaze back 
over the narrow little town and valley below, with its river, 
railroads, and canal curving like so many rings around Bear 
Mountain. The long snakes of coal-trains twist and crawl 
on the black railway tracks, with bells ringing and steam 
pufiing. Away to the north is Broad Mountain, with a vil- 
lage on the level spot at its base. Here can be realized what 
a compressed and narrow town Mauch Chunk is, and how 
well the people have utilized the scanty space to get what 
there is of it in between the hills and the river. The ceme- 
tery is on this hill-top not far away, and alongside, upon a 
little space of flat land, are the remains of a circus ring. Up 
here is actually the only place where a level spot can be found 
big enough for a circus tent, and there is onl}^ room for a very 
small one, for if too big it might have tipped over and slid 
with clowns and audience down the mountain. How many 
Philadelphians would climb two hundred and fifty feet up a 
steep hill to go to the circus, — yet Mauch Chunk does it 
whenever it gets a chance. In the little cemetery Asa 
Packer is buried, but no stone yet marks his grave. The 



THE SWITCHBACK. 253 

woman from the village who pointed it out, said in comment, 
" You might think it was the grave of some poor man." I 
understand it is to have an elaborate monument. 

THE FIRST COAL-MINING. 

What a tale this region has to tell of the difficulties and 
discouragement of the early coal-miners, whose first railroad 
to market was over the Switchback, and thence by boats down 
the Lehigh. The town of Summit Hill is behind Mount 
Pisgah, and about nine miles northwest of Mauch Chunk, on 
the top of Sharp Mountain. Here, in 1791, a hunter named 
Philip Ginter first discovered the coal. Specimens were 
brought to Philadelphia, and a year later some venturesome 
capitalists of this city took up about ten thousand acres of 
land on Sharp Mountain, and formed the Lehigh Coal Com- 
pany. They opened mines, and spent the magnificent sum 
of fifty dollars in constructing a wagon-road across the nine 
miles distance to the Lehigh River. But for over twenty 
years there was scarcely any mining done, until, in 1815, a 
little coal was sent to Philadelphia, where the people laughed 
at it. The few who bought the Lehigh coal comphiined of 
being imposed upon, and soon no one would take it, even as 
a gift. Finally the city authorities permitted the coal to 
have a trial under the boilers at the water-works, but it was 
declared that it only " put the fire out," and the remaining 
stock was broken up and used to pave the sidewalks instead 
of gravel. The coal-miners were naturally disheartened ; every 
one was prejudiced against it, and matters came to such a pass 
that people had to be bribed to try the experiment of burn- 
ing the coal fairly, so averse were the public to the innova- 
tion. But ultimately, charcoal becoming scarce and costly, 
the coal was given a better trial, though it was long before 
those who put faith in it got any return from their invest- 
ment. The Lehigh coal cost fourteen dollars per ton at that 
time to get it to Philadelphia. In 1818 the Lehigh Navi- 
gation Company was formed, and soon afterwards the Lehigh 
Coal Company, they afterwards becoming the foundation of 
the present Lehigh Coal and Navigation Company. In Aug- 
ust, 1818, the Lehigh Canal was begun, and this reducing 
the transportation charges, coal, in 1824, got down to seven 
dollars per ton at Philadelphia. In 1825 the Lehigh Canal 

22 



254 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

brought thirty-one thousand tons to market, and in 1831 the 
shipment had increased to forty-one thousand tons. The 
boats were built like square boxes and joined together with 
hinges into long tows, and made the trip down to Philadel- 
phia, being then broken up, the wood-work sold for lumber, 
and the spikes, hinges, and iron-work returned to Maucli 
Chunk overland to be made up into new boats. They now 
send down the Lehigh more coal in a single day than was 
shipped a half-century ago in an entire year. Judge Packer 
used to tell how three hundred and eighty-five tons of Lehigh 
coal in 1820 " completely choked the market." The Lehigh 
coal-veins are of enormous thickness on top of the mountains 
near Mauch Chunk, in some places reaching fifty-three feet, 
and their product is the hardest anthracite known in the 
world. 

It was the Switchback that originally brought this coal 
from the mines on its way to market. This is a gravity rail- 
road constructed between Mauch Chunk and Summit Hill. 
Prior to 1827 they wagoned the coal from Summit Hill out 
to the river, and then this gravity road was designed, by 
which the loaded coal-cars could be run nine miles down a 
grade of over ninety feet to the mile, till they arrived at 
tipper Mauch Chunk, and there dumped the coal into chutes 
that delivered it into the canal-barges in the river far below. 
To get the empty cars back they were hauled up an inclined 
plane to the top of Mount Pisgah, then run by gravity for 
six miles to the foot of Mount Jefferson, were hauled up a 
second inclined plane to the top of that mountain, and then 
again run by gravity down the slope to Summit Hill. It was 
a cheap and ingenious method of transit, and served for many 
years to bring the coal out to Mauch Chunk. But now the 
coal reaches the river by another route, and the curious 
Switchback line, which belongs to the Lehigh Navigation 
Company, has become an excursion route for tourists. It is 
astonishing how many people like to slide down-hill. Over 
thirty-five thousand went over the Switchback last year. In 
making this novel journey, you are first hauled up the Mount 
Pisgah plane, which is two thousand three hundred and twenty- 
two feet long, and rises six hundred and sixty-four feet. You 
are then about nine hundred feet above Mauch Chunk and 
fifteen hundred feet above tide-water. The car afterwards, 



THE SWITCHBACK. 255 

in running by gravity six miles to Mount Jefferson, fulls 
three hundred and two feet, when you are again hauled up 
the Mount Jefferson plane, which is two thousand and sev- 
enty feet long, and rises four hundred and sixty-two feet. 
This brings you to the highest point on the road, about six- 
teen hundred and sixty feet above tide-water. Then in run- 
ning one mile to Summit Hill you fall forty-five feet, and on 
the return trip, which is all a steady fall by gravity, the road 
goes down grade an average of ninety-six feet to the mile. 
In making the circuit the car travels about eighteen miles. 

GOING UP MOUNT PISGAH. 

Let us start on our novel journey on a little open summer 
car, running upon a narrow-gauge railway, built with a very 
light rail. The station is a rather primitive one, and the 
conductor loosening his brake, we slowly slide down the 
short descent towards the foot of the Mount Pisgah plane. 
The car will hold about fifty people, and twenty-five took the 
journey with us, showing that this line is not just now 
choked with traffic. A little Skye terrier was anxious to go 
along, but as he had no ticket they would not let him. As 
we move along towards the foot of the plane we are on the 
edge of the hill, with the river far below, and on the way 
pass some of the old-time little coal- cars that used to travel 
on this line. Reaching the foot of the plane, the double- 
track railroad extends far up the mountain, with the engine- 
house and its two surmounting chimneys perched on the top, 
the railroad apparently rising about one foot in three. The 
two engines away up there, each of one hundred and twenty 
horse-power, turn two monster iron drums, each twenty-eight 
feet in diameter. Around these drums are wound broad iron 
bands, six inches wide, and these extending down the plane 
have safety-cars attached to them, so arranged with ratchets 
that if anything should break they would hold fast wherever 
they might be. One goes up as the other comes down the 
hill when the machinery is moving. Our little open car runs 
upon the plane over a pit in which the safety-car is sunk ; 
then the machinery starts, and the safety-car being drawn 
out of the pit and coming behind us, it pushes us up. Almost 
like ascending in a balloon, — excepting the jar, — we thus 
mount the plane, steadily leaving the deepening valley be- 



256 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

hind us. Up we go and experience the strange optical illu- 
sion, as we incline backward in the car, that all the trees and 
buildings look as if they were leaning over forward. The 
flat bands scrape and rattle over their supporting wheels as 
we are drawn along, and midway on the line we pass the other 
safety-car fastened to its iron band, going down. We seem 
to be pulled in somewhat unpleasant jerks sometimes as the 
iron band sways in its long career, but we care little for this, 
in the enjoyment of the novel sensation. The plane is 
quickly mounted, and with a forward dip our car runs through 
the engine-house and halts an instant on the summit. 

We soon start again, and run out upon the high trestle 
that crosses the valley behind Mount Pisgah. Here in both 
directions there is a grand view as we move slowly over the 
trestle, and some of the timorous passengers cling closely to 
their companions, fearful lest they might fiill over the edge. 
There is a rain-storm coming, and its stiff breeze blows 
briskly over the mountain ranges. Looking down, Mauch 
Chunk is far below, its cemetery filled with tiny monuments, 
and the crooked river looking like a little brook. In all 
directions are gray-topped mountains, rising range beyond 
range, for the sight as you are perched up on the high 
trestle is more like that seen out of a balloon than anything 
else I can compare to it. Excepting down in the Lehigh 
Valley, there is nothing else but the mountain-tops spread 
out, and to the eastward the eye will carry as far as Schooley's 
Mountain, in New Jersey, sixty miles away. The Lehigh 
Gap can be seen, with its narrow notch, and the Blue Moun- 
tain range running off to the horizon. To the north, the 
Broad Mountain, nearer than the others, shuts in the view, 
but it still is one of grand proportions. The sight from the 
top of Mount Pisgah lacks only the eternal snows to make it a 
veritable Alpine scene. The weather was warm down in the 
valley at Mauch Chunk, but up here, as the wind blows freshly, 
it is cold enough for overcoats. As we still move slowly across 
the trestle, the little lines of coal trains can be traced out as 
they move along the crooked railways, looking like a set of 
children's playthings, they seem, so diminutive. AVe pass the 
pavilion on the far side of the valley, and then start on our 
gravity road towards Mount Jefferson, running along the hill- 
side through the woods, and at times attaining high speed. 



THE SWITCHBACK. 257 



A SUMMER STORM ON THE MOUNTAIN. 

The road winds along the hill, and away across the deep 
valley on the left hand there is another mountain range. We 
glide through the cool air and almost get chilled, the temper- 
ature becomes so low. The Switchback is a remarkable road ; 
it only runs one way, like a street-car. You cannot go back 
on this track, but must continue all the way round. We dart 
past the entrances to several coal-drifts that are opened into 
the hill, and have their discharging chutes far down below 
us, where there are great outlying piles of slate and coal-dust, 
the usual surroundings of a mine. Thus we run down the 
slightly declining grade through woods and rocks on the 
southern slope of Mount Pisgah for six miles towards Mount 
Jefferson ; and, as the car glides along, rain-drops begin to 
come from the approaching storm, and make quite a flutter 
among the passengers, as the open car is but a slight protec- 
tion. The storm soon bursts upon us, and then the fellows 
who originally grabbed the front seats in the open car wished 
they had not been so precipitous, for they got a sudden 
deluge, and jumped for safety to seats farther back. These 
mountain-tops quickly generate a shower, and, as the rain 
drives through the open car, the brake-tender slows its speed. 
But alas, the thin, fair-weather roof soon begins to leak, and 
then the deluge comes in earnest. We stand up and try to 
keep off the drops that ooze through the thin covering over 
our heads, but it is in vain. The rain falling in torrents out- 
side saturates everything, and streams pour down over all the 
passengers. Then it began to hail, and this brought general 
demoralization, which was not allayed by terrific thunder and 
sharp lightning, the bolts reverberating among the hills. We 
were a woe-begone party of draggled tourists up on the 
Switchback. 

W^e had been for weeks praying for rain to end the pro- 
tracted summer drouth, and now we had all got it. Nobody 
thought of the scenery as the car moved along through the 
rain, with its passengers trying to avert the streams of water 
that were running down their clothing and into their pockets, 
while a small deluge from below was soaking their feet. It 
was like a cloud-burst, and took out every one's starch and 
romance alike. We might as well have stood out- doors, for 
r 22* 



258 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the leaky roof and open sides and ends of the car were worse 
than no protection. The conductor protested that they had 
never got in such a plight before ; we were sure we never 
would again. The car brought a limp and bedraggled party 
to the foot of Mount Jefferson to be drawn up the second 
plane, for as the road only ran one way, there was no getting 
back. We were in for it, and had to go all the way around. 
We were quickly drawn up Mount Jefferson and reached the 
highest point on the Switchback, where the rain had made 
quite a lake on the mountain-top, and all the rivulets were 
full of muddy water as they ran down the mountain-sides 
into the deep valley, where Panther Creek had become a tor- 
rent. The shower passed over us, and we slid down the 
second gravity road a short distance to Summit Hill, stopping 
at the little station, where we tried to dry our clothes around 
the stove, and succeeded pretty well, until somebody dis- 
covered there was no fire in it. 

SUMMIT HILL. 

Summit Hill is the chief mining town of the Lehigh Val- 
ley, having probably seven thousand population, all in one 
way or another supported by the mines. Here are the col- 
lieries of the Panther Creek Valley and Sharp Mountain, 
which produce so much and such good anthracite. The cars 
used to go down to the mines from Summit Hill on now 
abandoned inclined planes, but at present the coal seeks its 
outlet through the railway leading to Coalport, on the Le- 
high, north of Mount Pisgah, going through a big tunnel. 
Just beyond Summit Hill is the " Burning Mine," which has 
been burning since 1832, and has consumed so much of the 
underlying coal that the ground on the surface looks like the 
crater of a volcano. Small boys peddle curiosities here that 
are got out of the mines, showing strange geological forma- 
tions. But, after all, the chief feature of the place seems to 
be the huge piles of slate and refuse that have been cast out 
by the miners. 

Making a brief survey of this mining town we then start 
on the return trip by the gravity railroad, the conductor 
having got us a dry car with windows that will close up. We 
run steadily along the edge of the hills bordering the deep 
valley leading back to Mauch Chunk, going all the time down 



THE SWITCHBACK. 259 

grade, — now fast, now slow, as suits the man who holds the 
brake. The scene down in the valley, where the fields are 
partly cultivated, and the little stream runs, is essentially 
Swiss. The thunder claps from the departing rain-storm re- 
verberate among the mountains, but we do not care for the 
rain now. How independent of rain one can be after he gets 
under shelter ! We run at high speed under the Mount Jef- 
ferson plane in returning, and farther along again run under 
the gravity road between the planes, showing that the two 
lines of the Switchback keep close company. Our road goes 
almost all the way through the woods, generally winding, but 
having some straight reaches, down which they sometimes 
rush at the rate of a mile a minute, giving a good idea of the 
immense force there is in the law of gravity. As we dart 
along, some of the landscape scenes through the woods and 
around the curves are beautiful, until a stray cow threatens 
to throw us off, and compels a halt. The road occasionally 
runs on the edge of raging torrents, made thick and muddy 
by the rains. In the valley alongside our route there are 
iron-mills, and now and then a little village as we approach 
Mauch Chunk, and come in at the foot of Mount Pisgah, 
the place from which we started. 

G-etting into a stage, we ride for a half-mile down the hill 
by the road into the valley, the driver being kept busy man- 
aging his brakes. For this short ride the Philadelphians 
clamorous for " five-cent fares" on the horse-cars who were 
on board cheerfully paid a quarter, and thought it was all 
right, such being the custom at Mauch Chunk. As we left 
this strange region the clouds were creeping along the sides 
of the mountains, for the storm was not yet broken up. Our 
bedraggled tourist party arrived at the Lehigh Valley Rail- 
road station profoundly impressed with the beauty of the 
Switchback scenery, but decidedly opposed to doing any more 
sliding down-hill in an open car and through a drenching 
storm. 



260 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

XXXY. 

THE PENNSYLVANIA KAILKOAD. 
THE VALLEY OF THE UPPER DELAWARE. 

Let us enter to-day one of the comfortable cars that the 
Pennsylvania Railroad provides for its through line from 
Philadelphia to the Delaware Water Gap. After swiftly 
riding over the smooth rails to Trenton we leave the main 
line and curve around to the northward from the station to 
get on the Belvidere Delaware Kailroad. This is the line 
through the Delaware Valley, running up the banks of our 
great river for nearly eighty miles to the Water Gap and be- 
yond. We halt at the station a moment for i\iQ hands to 
make up the new train and listen to the long speech the 
brakeman delivers to direct the passengers aright. He is 
quite an orator, and runs over the names of the numerous 
stations with a clearness of enunciation that shows no ordi- 
nary elocutionary powers. Then remarking quietly to me, 
" If the passengers go wrong it won't be my fault," brake- 
man No. 367 is ready for the journey up the Delaware. We 
curve around through the hills on the outskirts of Trenton, 
past that very ancient passenger-car that has been shoved up 
on a siding for a long time, where the rains have washed the 
soil all over the tracks and the youthful Jerseymen have 
knocked out all the windows, leaving it a railway relic of past 
ages. Then through the town we go, over the Karitan Canal 
on a swing drawbridge, where several big schooners are lying 
at the wharves of the potteries, which are so numerous here- 
about ; then along the canal-bank, with Feeder Street on the 
other side, all the intersecting streets crossing the canal on 
little swing-bridges, till we stop at the pretty station at War- 
ren Street for some of the Trenton nabobs to get aboard. 
Over another canal we ride, for Trenton seems honeycombed 
by them, and then out through the hills, with the road-bridges 
crossing over our heads ; and having got beyond the town, 
the Delaware lliver comes into view to the westward. The 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 261 

fields are well cultivated, for we are gliding past some of the 
best corn land and orchards of Mercer County. We pass the 
buildings of the New Jersey Lunatic Asylum, on the hill east 
of the railway, so covered in with foliage that you can hardly 
tell what kind of a place it is ; and our obliging brakeman 
tells- of his adventures in transporting fifteen car-loads of 
lunatics from this asylum over to the other State institution 
at Morristown in cars, with doors locked and windows fas- 
tened. Judging by the kind of people who sometimes ride 
on his train, he is of opinion that all the Jersey lunatics are 
not yet in the asylums. 

We are now almost out to the edge of the Delaware, and 
still running swiftly along the bank of the llaritan Canal 
feeder. High over our heads on a long trestle and bridge 
comes the Bound Brook Bailroad across the river and the 
adjacent lowlands, a train running above us as we dart under 
the trestle, showing the advantage of not having railway 
crossings at grade. We have come into the region of dark 
red soils, with its frequent quarries of brownstone. After 
running over the flat farm-land, with hills sloping on both 
sides of the valley, we come out on the river-bank to find the 
channel dotted with little islands, as we pass the low, irregu- 
lar sort of rocky dam that makes what is known as Scudder's 
Falls. Above here the Delaware is a stream barely as wide 
as the Schuylkill at the Falls village, and not unlike it, flow- 
ing placidly between the wooded shores of its low bordering 
hills. Higher hills loom up ahead, for fiir away northward 
are the spurs of the South Mountain ranges that border the 
Lehigh region. The railway runs on the narrow strip be- 
tween the canal and the river, the rocks in the shallow stream 
occasionally poking up above the water. 'Then, where a 
beautiful weeping willow stands alongside the road, we come 
to Washington's Crossing. Here was the ancient McConkey's 
Ferry, where Washington crossed in midwinter to fight the 
battle of Trenton. They have built a bridge since, so that 
Washington would now have an easier time in getting across, 
though the enormous sign over the bridge entrance announcing 
a long list of things that he must not do " under ten dollars 
penalty," might possibly have some efi'ect in deciding future 
battles of Trenton. The stations are frequent, and the train- 
hands do a brisk business helping passengers in and out of 



262 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

the cars at the pretty villages along the river, the edge of the 
bank being frequently skirted by saw-logs, for freshets some- 
times play havoc with the rafts. Rocky ledges cross the 
stream, making frequent rapids, over which the water foams, 
and the Jerseyman of this region thinks nothing of standing 
out in the water up to his waist to fish. Soon we run among 
the outlying spurs of the South Mountain, the railway curv- 
ing with all the river bends around the bases of the hills. 
The stream in some places becomes narrow where the rocks 
closely compress the channel, and, excepting on the flat land 
bordering the valley in the nooks made by the hills, agricul- 
ture does not flourish. The fields back from the bank are 
usually set on edge against the hill-side. 

LAMBERTVILLE AND THE NOCKAMIXONS. 

Boulders and shingle are thickly strewn in the river as we 
approach the little dam made for the canal, below Lambert- 
ville, and run into that pleasant town, built on a compara- 
tively level plain among the hills sixteen miles above Trenton. 
A bridge crosses to the Pennsylvania shore, and the town has 
a fine station, constructed of the native brownstone that un- 
derlies all this part of New Jersey. Judging by the number 
of people rushing about at the station, Lambertville has a 
large travelling population. Bricks have built most of the 
houses, for the inhabitants have not yet got to using the 
brownstone and sandstone much for dwellings. The saw- 
mills also do a good business at working up the rafts of logs 
that come down the Delaware, and a branch railway runs off 
inland to Flemington, the county-seat of Hunterdon, which 
we are now traversing. Above Lambertville a succession of 
villages line the shores on both sides of the river, and the 
sunflowers nod brightly at us as we rush past the gardens, 
while the chickens — for the sun is near setting — are picking 
out their roosting-places for the night, generally selecting a 
perch on their owner's best carriage. Over on the Pennsyl- 
vania shore is the region of Solesbury, one of the earliest 
settled in Bucks County. New Hope and Lumberville are 
on the river-bank, and to reach the latter the river, railway, 
and canal make a long sweep around to the westward, that 
gives a most beautiful view as we run along the edges of the 
brownstone hills with their frequent quarries. The rocks 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 263 

stand up high upon the Penns3^1vania bank with their wooded 
crests. The stones are so plenty here that they are piled 
up to make fences between the fields, and, in fact, they are 
in some localities the chief crop the farmer gathers on his 
land. We pass Bull's Island, prettily located on another 
grand semicircular sweep of the river back to the northward 
above Lumberville. The scenery becomes wild and romantic 
among the high forest-covered hills on both sides of the river, 
and here we pass the " Tumble Station,'* twenty six miles 
from Trenton, where somebody in ancient times probably 
tumbled off the rocks into the river to give it a name. 

Gradually we run among higher and higher ranges of hills, 
through which the narrow Delaware threads its tortuous way, 
and their stratified ledges of slate sometimes stretch far 
across the river, marking where the water has forced its way 
through. In other places, where soil has become attached to 
these rocky ledges, they appear as green islands in the chan- 
nel. As we move along, the sun is setting behind the high- 
est hills on the Pennsylvania shore, and as their rounded tops 
pass, it repeatedly sets, and reappears again in the depres- 
sions of the range, making a succession of charming sunsets. 
Far ahead of us is the dark blue outline of the distant Mus- 
conetcong Mountain range, one of the backbones of this 
part of New Jersey, which frowns down upon the lowlands, 
and makes the Delaware curve in a long double twist far to 
the southwest to get around its outer end. All the river vil- 
lages have saw-mills, and thousands of logs are tied along the 
shore in rafts. Frequent bridges cross over — all toll-roads, 
with their gates shut, to keep the erratic traveller from get- 
ting across without handing out his pennies. The people are 
out on the smooth waters in row-boats, and wave salutes to 
the passing train as they enjoy the cool breezes. But the 
space on which they can row is restricted by the rocky rapids 
that occupy much of the stream. Gradually we curve around 
to the southwest in the gorge through the range of hills, and 
pass the land of Nockamixon. Bounding a great promon- 
tory, we have in full review the grand escarpment of the 
Nockamixon rocks over on the Pennsylvania shore, standing 
up in wondrous formation like the Palisades of the Hudson, 
the range running far away to the westward as the river again 
curves around to the northward. Here we pass Holland, and 



264 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

if anxious to give these wonderful rocks a closer inspection, 
can sliout across the river and get a citizen of Bucks County 
to come out with his boat and row us over at the rate of ten 
cents per boatload. These extraordinary red sandstone rocks 
rise about three hundred feet high, almost perpendicularly, 
with here and there a ravine of romantic wildness, where 
they have been rent asunder. At their foot the plodding 
mules draw coal-barges along the Delaware Division Canal. 
Above these rocks the valley broadens, and we glide across 
the Musconetcong River, near Eiegelsville, where a wall of 
rock hems in the railway alongside the station, much of the 
town being on the level plain over on the Pennsylvania shore. 

THE rORKS OF THE DELAWARE. 

The railway continues its course along the river-bank 
through a pass between two jutting hills, the route being 
hewn out of the rocks, while stony ledges and boulders partly 
intercept the stream. Then sand-banks fill the channel as 
we move across a plain and gradually approach the hills sur- 
rounding the mouth of the Lehigh. There are frequent vil- 
lages along the river, and we run across the little mountain 
streams, whose stony beds are almost dry, the drouth has 
been so severe. Through another narrow pass, hemmed in 
by high wooded hills, the river valley goes, and then bends 
around to the westward to receive the Lehigh, which comes 
up through its mountain valley from the southwest. We run 
past iron-mills and their outlying slag-heaps, and halt under 
the great railway bridges that bring the Lehigh Valley and 
New Jersey Central Railroads across the Delaware on their 
way to New York harbor. These are high iron structures, 
built on stone piers, that bring them over our heads, while 
the canal runs underneath. It is an extraordinary place 
where we halt at the Lehigh Junction, coal-trains roaring 
over the top, and the water flowing below us. Stone, iron, 
and coal lie around, and as we pass on to run the half-mile 
intervening before the train reaches Phillipsburg, up the Le- 
high Valley, across on the Pennsylvania shore, can be seen 
the Lehigh and the Bushkill, with the town of Easton built 
in ridges upon the level land, and rising in tiers up the out- 
lying hills. The town looks pretty under the sunset clouds 
as it nestles among the busy coal-trains, with the Delaware 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 265 

flowing in front. Its spires and steeples stand up against the 
western sky as we run into the station at Phillipsburg, and 
cross its main street just at the head of the wagon-bridge 
across the Dehiware. Phillipsburg has a hill-bound back- 
ground, up which the streets run. 

This is the " Forks of the Delaware," the confluence of 
the Delaware and Lehigh Rivers, and in the " Forks" stands 
Easton, the chief town of the upper Delaware Valley. Here 
came the chiefs of the Lenni Lenapes to treat with Penn and 
his successors, and here the town was founded one hundred 
and thirty years ago, but it did not become a great business 
place till the Lehigh coal sought this route to a market. Its 
chief buildings are those of Lafayette College, located mag- 
nificently on the high bluif, north of the Bushkill, and mu- 
nificently endowed by one of the Lehigh coal princes, Ario 
Pardee, who has built its noblest structure — Pardee Hall — 
of brownstone with light sandstone trimmings. We leave the 
Phillipsburg Station, and as we glide up the river-bank above 
the town, pass Easton's fine buildings on the opposite bluff 
along the river, where the ornamental villas have a lovely 
outlook. Soon the Delaware narrows and its course winds 
amoniz; the hills aii;ain, as we run throuoh the narrow gorsie 
above Easton, where there are limestone-quarries, and long 
inclined planes lead down from some of them to the river- 
bank, while rocky ledges extend out into the water. The 
pebble and shingle in the channel above make long lines 
of shoals, over which the current foams, while, as the val- 
ley broadens again, islands frequently divide the stream. 
The railroad curves with the long reaches of the winding 
river and gives fine views as we run towards Belvidere. At 
times the valley is broad enough for cultivation, and then 
again it narrows between the hills, leaving scarcely room for 
the railway to pass in its rock-hewn course. Soon we reach 
Belvidere, the " town of the beautiful view," sixty-five miles 
above Trenton, and in the twilight it indeed has a superb 
outlook on the woodclad hills across the Delaware and the 
broad sweep of the river as it curves grandly around from 
the north towards the east to make a peninsula on which the 
town is built. Belvidere itself is a mixture of houses and 
foliage standing upon a stony creek-bed, out of which the 
water has almost all run. The houses are almost all slate- 
M 23 



266 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

roofed, and the cabbage-gardens of many of them back 
invitingly up to the car-windows. 

THE FIRST VIEW OF THE WATER GAP. 

Leaving Belvidere, we run through the farm-land and roll- 
ing hills, liberally sprinkled with stones, which slope far back 
from the bank. Our course is towards the northeast, the 
line running along the base of a promontory, with a high 
hill across the river, at the upper end of which the Delaware, 
before breaking through the range, comes down from the 
northwest. As we swing around the curve, and can see our 
engine laboring at the head of the train, the opposite hills 
gradually open, giving a view up the valley. At first, in the 
deepening twilight, can be seen the dark sides of the Kitta- 
tinny Mountain, far away. Then the view between the hills 
opens wider, and there is the Water Gap in all its glory, ten 
miles away. We run a little farther, and halt at the foot of 
the Penungauchung Hills, through which a double tunnel 
brings the Delaware, Lackawanna and Western Railway, from 
Jersey City, to unite with our line. The pretty Indian name 
has been corrupted by the modern railway-builder into Ma- 
nunka Chunk, and here we halt, with the fresh air blowing 
into our faces from far away over the water to the northward 
at the Gap, while they make up a new train. Watermelons 
cover much of the station platform, and we wish there was 
time to cut one. The initials " P. R. R.," made in flowers 
alongside the station, is the last we see of the Pennsylvania 
Railroad, as we go upon the other line to continue the jour- 
ney to the Gap, which now stands up prominently before us. 
Mounts Minsi and Tammany elevated far above the lower 
intervening hills, Tammany rising abruptly, and Minsi more 
sloping. Between them is the narrow WDtch making the Gap, 
and, though it can just be detected, the dim outline of the 
Pocono Mountains far beyond. 

The sturdy locomotive " Thomas Dickson," named for an- 
other coal prince, takes hold of our train and draws us up the 
line that brings down the Scranton coal to market. We swing 
around with the river to the northwest and head direct for the 
Gap, the road being hewn out of the hill-side high above the 
river valley. The ununiformed trainmen who now take charge 
are in strong contrast with the neat blue clothing and white 



THE PENNSYLVANIA RAILROAD. 267 

hats of Pennsylvania Railway officials. The conductor comes 
through wearing a black slouch hat, and the brakeman rushes 
around in check shirt and a straw hat, looking not unlike an 
escaped convict. As we approach Delaware Station the val- 
ley broadens, and there is room for some farm land, and here 
the railway gets a chance to make a long curve, around which 
the cars glide into an iron truss-bridge, which carries the road 
diagonally over to the Pennsylvania shore from Warren 
County into Northampton. In the twilight can still be seen 
the Gap, now looking larger as we approach it, with the nar- 
row, placid river flowing down among the nearer but much 
smaller hills. Although it is almost dark, the view is very 
fine, with the notch and the high range of the Kittatinny 
extending far across the scene, the low-lying Blockhead 
Mountain being now visible just behind and partly closing 
the Gap. At Portland, a long wooden bridge is thrown 
across the river, and we rush along comparatively low shores 
beyond, with great masses of stones in the stream. Then we 
come to the foot of the mountain, and, twisting with the river 
suddenly to the left, enter the Gap, the railway closely hug- 
ging the shore of the narrow stream that has broken its 
route through. The precipitous mountains rise high above 
lis, and in the darkness seem almost ready to topple over. 
We have scarcely entered the Gap when the road swings 
grandly around first to the left and then to the right through 
the gorge, with vast masses of rock towering above us. In a 
few minutes we are through, and, rounding the Blockhead 
Mountain, sight the lights of the little station, one hundred 
and seven miles from Philadelphia, with the Shawnee Hills 
behind it, just traceable against the western sky as we curve 
to the northeast. The train halts, and the passengers clamber 
into the stages that are to haul them up the mountain. The 
horses laboriously drag us up the zigzag roadway, the bright 
headlight which each stage carries shining out in front, while 
behind us a succession of lights, which are all that can be 
seen of the other coaches, are jogging and nodding as they 
come along, their rays illuminating the dust- clouds our stage 
has raised. The place is weird-looking as we crawl along 
through the thick woods in the darkness, and the katydids 
keep up their usual disputation, now carried on all the louder, 
as it is the only thing we can hear. Up we toil, on the road 



268 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

to " Tat's Gap," an opening in the Kittatinny Mountain 
range, named in honor of Moses Funda Tatamy, the old-time 
Indian interpreter, but now called " Tat's," for short. We 
go a very crooked half-mile, ascend about four hundred feet, 
and soon through the woods can see a broad plateau of lights. 
Circling around it, and finding the illumination all coming 
from the windows behind the broad piazzas of the Water 
Gap House, we alight at the entrance, and the ride un the 
beautiful valley of the Delaware is ended. 



XXXVI. 

THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 
THE KITTATINNY AND THE MINISINK. 

The great mountain range of the Kittatinny has been fre- 
quently met in these rambles. The Indians gave it the 
name, meaning, in their figurative language, " the endless 
chain of hills." It is the great Blue Ridge, extending across 
the country from the Catskills in New York, as far south- 
west as Alabama, a distance of eight hundred miles, — a veri- 
table backbone for the Atlantic seaboard, to which it runs 
parallel ; and rising sometimes to an elevation of two thou- 
sand five hundred feet. We went through it with the Sus- 
quehanna at the gap above Harrisburg. The Potomac breaks 
through the ridge at Harper's Ferry, the Schuylkill at Ham- 
burg. We also went through it at the Lehigh Gap, with 
that beautiful river, and twenty- nine miles northeast of this 
is the Delaware Water Gap. Between them are five other 
depressions, the chief being the Wind Gap, eleven miles from 
the Delaware. This depression is not so low as the Water 
Gap, and again the Indians appropriately described them by 
giving names indicating that the wind went through one gap 
and the water through the other. And even to this day the 
disappointed formers of Monroe County, when looking for 
rain in a dry time, berate the clouds that give them the slip, 
and are blown away through the Wind Gap. Tat's Gap is 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 269 

two and one-half miles from the Water Gap, and by all of 
these depressions wagon-roads are carried over the great 
mountain range, the Water Gap itself being eighty miles in 
a direct line north of Philadelphia, though much more by 
riding along the Delaware. 

The river Delaware, or rather the Coquago and Popacton, 
which form it, rise in the Catskills, and for nearly two hun- 
dred miles they flow along the western side of the great Blue 
llidge, seeking an outlet to the sea, uniting at the northeast 
corner of Pennsylvania. For half this distance the Erie 
Kailway uses the Delaware Valley for its road to the West. 
In the dim past, it is said, the Kittatinny chain had no 
AVater Gap, but that it dammed up the waters of the Dela- 
ware into a vast lake, covering northeastern Pennsylvania, 
and having its outlet on the higher level of the Wind Gap. 
But a mighty convulsion came that rent the rocks asunder 
and let the waters through, so that the stream flowed down 
towards the sea, to make on its gradually deepening channel, 
and by the action of the current, both cobble-stones and com- 
merce for Philadelphia. The vast lake was thus let out, and 
the rich land that was uncovered by the process became the 
happy hunting-grounds of the Lenni Lenapes, who called it 
again in their significant way the Land of the " Minisink," 
meaning " The waters have gone." The mountain-chain 
thus rent asunder left two abrupt peaks standing on either 
hand, towering sixteen hundred feet high. These were 
named in honor of the Indians, — Minsi, from one of the 
tribes, and Tammany, from the greatest chieftain the Lenni 
Lenapes or Delawares ever had, the great Tamanend. He 
was the boss Indian politician of his day, and it is, therefore, 
not inappropriate that, named after him, Tammany and its 
Sachems should rule the politics of New York. 

THE WATER GAP SEEN FROM ABOVE, 

Go out with me on the piazza of the hotel in the early 
morning, and at an elevation of four hundred feet above the 
river, with the cool air gently blowing from the far northward 
across the Minisink, take a view of this remarkable forma- 
tion of nature. Over opposite rises the bold form of Mount 
Tammany, on the Jersey shore, and to the southward Mount 
Minsi, the river forcing a narrow way between them, though 

23* 



270 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

it runs far below us, and so covered in by foliage and pro- 
jecting cliffs that it cannot be seen. Down in the valley the 
passing railway trains roll along, and they can be traced upon 
the black lines of rails far away to the northwest, as they run 
up the little stream known as Brodhead's Creek to Strouds- 
burg. The Delaware itself comes sharply around the pro- 
jecting point of a mountain from the northeast. The hunt- 
ing-grounds of the Minisink spread all across the view to the 
northward, a broad expanse of rolling and rich farm-land, 
crossed by the lower range of the Fox and Shawnee hills, 
through which the creek comes by a miniature gap. The 
Minisink spreads as far as eye can see, with the Pocono 
Mountains, gray and misty, at the edge of the horizon. But 
to the southward the great mountains bordering the Water 
Gap, barely a mile from us, abruptly close the view, except- 
ing where the river goes around its graceful curve through 
the opening of the narrow gorge, and is soon lost behind an 
intervening mountain. This precipitous, but comparatively 
low, mountain juts out in front of Mount Tammany, and pre- 
vents our seeing the lower part of the Gap. The obstruction 
is tantalizing, but it cannot be helped, and the stupid moun- 
tain that has thus put itself in the way has been appropri- 
ately named the Blockhead Mountain. With a companion 
clifl" on the other side, it makes the entrance portal to the 
pass. Their sides are densely wooded, and between them the 
narrow, placid river, which the rays of the early sun have 
not yet reached down to, makes a graceful curve to the east- 
ward. Mount Minsi, also densely wooded, rises just below, 
like the curved side of a great basin, and closes in the view, 
while the tall and abrupt wall of Mount Tammany on the 
other side rises in bluish haze behind the smaller Blockhead 
in front. Between, the two great mountains can be seen the 
Gap, through which the river has broken its way to get on 
to the sea, — narrow and contracted, and just opening as it 
were like a pair of sliding doors. This remarkable formation 
is upon so stupendous a scale that everything else seems 
dwarfed. As we leave the grand view, the first beams from 
the sun have got down to the river above, and make a rip- 
pling silver streak, while the gentle air from over the Minisink 
country solaces the mind as we lean back in the capacious 
arm-chairs on the broad piazza, and, through the openings 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 271 

in the waving foliage, drink in the calm yet gorgeous scene. 
Here, for fagged-out human nature, is the balmy restorative 
of the pure mountain air, and that long sight for tired eyes 
over the blue hills and placid waters that makes a perfect 
rest. Such is the Delaware Water Gap as seen from Sunset 
Hill. 

THE WATER GAP SEEN FROM BELOW. 

Now, after getting fortified by a good breakfast, for in this 
romantic region the mountain air quickly produces hunger, 
let us clamber down the hill to the river-bank. We go along 
steep zigzag paths, and rustic stairways, alongside little rocky 
waterfalls, and through pretty bits of shrubbery and flower- 
beds, and at a little wharf find a tiny steamboat — the " Kitta- 
tinny" — that will go out whenever it suits four persons to in- 
vest twenty-five cents apiece passage-money. We embark for 
a voyage through the Gap, and are on the narrow river, down 
in an immense basin, with the towering mountains encom- 
passing us, their green foliage clinging to the crags, begin- 
ning to tinge with yellow and red as the north wind tells of 
the approach of autumn. We look back at Sunset Hill, from 
which we came. Up on a ledge of rocks projecting from its 
side, about one hundred and seventy feet above the river, is 
the broad white expanse of the Kittatinny House, the smokes 
from its chimneys going almost straight up in the calm air 
till they get above the hill-top, where the wind can blow them 
away. Farther up, and embowered in foliage on the top of 
the hill, can be seen the white cupola of the Water Gap 
House, and a part of its mansard-roof. The trees obscure all 
the rest of the building, which seems almost suspended from 
the sky, it stands so high above us. Farther to the south- 
ward, the mountains forming the gigantic basin, in the bottom 
of which we are floating, raise their heads still higher, the 
almost perpendicular crags that form them being surmounted 
by masses of trees. These crags become a wall of dark red 
sandstone, rent into a horizontal chasm that looks not unlike 
the open mouth of some monster, and is therefore called the 
" Dragon's Jaw." Far above, and perched on an eminence, 
is an arbor embosomed in foHage. This was the " Lover's 
Leap" in the older days of the Gap, but modern refinement 
has named it for the lover who is alleged to have made the 



272 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

leap four hundred feet down into tlie river — " Winona's 
Cliff." Her pathetic story (condensed in Ledger style) may 
be told hereafter. To the eastward of Winona's Cliff", and 
fiirther around the basin, a wooded ravine divides the Cliff 
from the side of Mount Minsi, grandly rising far above. 
Here on the " Promontory," with a little white flag flying 
six hundred feet above the river, is another arbor, and one 
hundred feet higher up, but farther back from the precip- 
itous face of the mountain, still a third arbor rises amid the 
foliage on top of '' Prospect Hock." The river seems very 
narrow, the almost perpendicular sides of the mountains 
coming down to the water's edge, and in their vastness dwarf- 
ing all below, so that the distances seem much less than they 
really are. The railway runs up the Pennsylvania shore, the 
locomotive whistles reverberating from the mountain-sides as 
the trains run through the gorge. Such is the scene as we 
get aboard the little steamboat. 

The tiny " Kittatinny" pipes her shrill whistle, and with one 
dollar and seventy-five cents freight from seven passengers, 
starts on the voyage through the Gap. She circles around 
in the water and heads for Mount Minsi, that seems to shut 
up the gate through which the river flows, standing there 
like a great obstructive wall as we swiftly round the end of 
Blockhead Mountain. The long curving lines of rails at the 
foot of Mount Minsi glisten in the sunlight as we move 
along. Grandly the gorge sweeps around to the left as we 
calmly float along on the steamboat, a lot of other fellows 
laboriously pulling along in row-boats, and wishing they were 
us. Soon passing the point of Blockhead Mountain, we see 
the towering form of Mount Tammany behind it, the Gap 
looking like a little notch cut in the range, its sliding sides 
opening farther and farther down, as the steamer glides 
along. The beetling crags that rise far above show the rocky 
upheaval that has made this great mountain-chain. On both 
sides of the gorge the range rises gradually higher and 
higher as we enter the Gap. Here a party of boys in a boat, 
tired of rowing, try to hook on to the steamboat, but by mis- 
management run into us, and one of them gets knocked over- 
board. His companions fish him out of the water, and set 
him ashore to dry off", so that his mother will not find it out. 
The shock deranges our rudder, and we run the prow ashore 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 273 

Tvhile the crew make repairs. Thus we halt at the foot of 
the Blockhead, the romance all gone in the stern reality of 
impending shipwreck. The repairs completed and the under- 
writers' survey being satisfactory, the voyage is resumed. 
Again we glide between the Blockhead and Mount Minsi, 
having rounded the eastern curve, and now steer direct for 
the fiice of Mount Tammany, as the river begins its second 
grand curve through the Gap, this time reversing it and flow- 
ing towards the south, around the base of Mount Minsi. 
The narrow river sharply bends to the right as we enter the 
pass, which is not one thousand feet wide, while directly in 
front Tammany rises almost perpendicularly to the towering 
height of sixteen hundred feet. The rocks on either hand 
look as if the fissure had been rent by a sudden convulsion 
as we go through it between the mountains, and the little 
steamboat whistle is sounded to show the superb echo. 
Around the base of Mount Tammany they are hewing the 
route along the rocks for the extension of the Pennsylvania 
Bailroad up through the gorge, and to the Susquehanna far 
beyond the Minisink, so that, like the Bhine and the Hud- 
son, there will soon be a railway on both sides of the Dela- 
ware Biver gorge. The immense crags stand up far above 
our heads, and the workmen crawl over them and hang on in 
perilous positions as they chip out the path for the railway. 
Here ends the Gap, for the mountains south of the narrow 
pass rise almost abruptly from a comparatively level plain, 
while rocks and ridges so cover the water that it is almost 
impossible to see where the river goes, its route below is so 
well hidden. 

AVe turn about and retrace the journey through the Gap, 
a stiff north wind blowing down the narrow pass into our 
faces. As we move between the two great mountains again, 
a factory smokes on the shorfe just ahead of us, engaged in 
the unromantic occupation of making slates. The row-boats 
are out on the river in numbers, and we quickly retrace our 
course through the river's double curve, past Minsi and the 
Blockhead, when the ladies are startled again by a baby lean- 
ing far over the side of a row-boat to dabble in the water. 
They expect it to topple over and get drowned, but the 
Providence that guards babies and journalists alike allows no 
news item of this sort to be telegraphed from the Gap. We 



274 ' BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

head for the Promontory, with its arbor perched on high, and 
then roiinding the Blockhead, sight the two hotels elevated 
on Sunset Hill, one apparently on top of the other. As we 
go along, the youth who fell overboard is seen on the shore 
wringing out his wet clothes and taking his first lesson as an 
amateur Chinese laundryman, while just above him, behind 
the railway, is the prettiest rustic arbor in all this romantic 
region, that which Mr. Childs has put at the entrance to the 
Eureka Glen. Steaming on a little farther we can see up the 
valley of Brodhead's Creek and over the village of the 
Water Gap, nestling at the foot of another hill, just at the 
edge of the river, with the Shawnee range of hills running 
off in the distance. Beturning to the landing after this ro- 
mantic and not unadventurous sail through the Gap, we toil 
on foot up Sunset Hill, and speak in admiration both of the 
view -and of the inventor of that boon to ascending humanity 
— the elevator. Having mounted the hill, the journey is ap- 
propriately ended by getting our photographs taken with 
Mount Minsi in the background. 



XXXVII. 

THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 
THE MINSI PIONEERS. 

Nature made the Delaware Water Gap, but art has made 
it accessible, and unfolded its greatest beauties to the human 
gaze. Philadelphia began sending its tourists here sixty years 
ago, when the laborious journey was made by stage. The 
venerable Caleb Cope is probably the only survivor of the 
earlier visitors, and a half-century ago the beginning of what 
is now the Kittatinny House was built. The throng increased, 
so that greater accommodations were needed, until at present 
there are probably thirty hotels and boarding-houses within 
a small circuit around the Gap, the latest and finest of them 
being the Water Gap House, on top of Sunset Hill. The 
visitors made the foot-paths that have displayed the beauties 



THE DEL A WARE WATER GAP. 275 

of the mountains, and as early as thirty years ago a party of 
them opened a path through the finest of the attractions on 
the mountain-side, the Eureka Glen. Soon after there was 
made a reguhir organization, called the " Sappers and Miners," 
composed of visitors at the Gap, who opened roads and foot- 
paths and put up direction marks. Many well-known Phila- 
delphians who would not like to be seen mending highways 
and chopping wood at home were willing to pay eighteen 
dollars a week board at the Water Gap for the privilege of 
chipping rocks and cutting out undergrowth, getting thereby 
a better appetite than they ever knew in Philadelphia society 
circles. The " Sappers and Miners" were a grand organiza- 
tion, having the right idea about the proper formation of 
such a corps. They were nearly all officers. They had a 
hundred offices of various grades of dignity, and the single 
man whom all these officials commanded was known as the 
" High Private." They also knew well that the commis- 
sariat was an important department for a working force, and 
whenever they started out on a road-making expedition, 
enough ladies were taken along to prepare a lunch and care 
for the wounded. These " Sappers and Miners," however, 
fell into desuetude, and afterwards were superseded by the 
" Minsi Pioneers." These pioneers were industrious road- 
makers for several years, but they too, like all things earthly, 
have dissolved into little else than a memory, though many 
of the best paths and prettiest views at the Gap were opened 
by this organization. At the hotel, in the hall, there is put 
up on the wall in rustic emblems, 

" The Minsi Pioneers," 
" Organized August 21, 1875." 

Beneath are twelve axes, supposed to be the tools with which 
the pioneers did their work. But these axes are no longer 
taken down — there is no more road-making, — even the anni- 
versary, once a day of extra jollification, this year passed un- 
noticed. The glory of the corps has departed, and the road- 
making at the Gap is now the task of the hotel-keepers and 
Mr. Childs, who has been a visitor there since boyhood. A 
check from Sixth and Chestnut Streets now influences more 
road-making at the Gap than all the rusting axes of the 
pioneers that hang on the wall. 



276 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 



THE SYLVAN WAT. 

Let us make an exploration of some of these roads, which, 
like the Appian Way for the Romans, recall in this modern day 
the skill of the " Sappers and Miners" and the " Minsi Pio- 
neers," the ancient road-makers at the Gap. The journey, 
however, has to be made on foot. No carriage is allowed to 
invade the sacred routes, laid out on the mountain-side of 
this romantic region. Horses are permitted to haul you from 
the railway station, but you must do your own transportation 
afterwards. We will begin with the Sylvan Way, laid out 
along the romantic banks of the wild Caldeno Creek. This 
little stream comes down the mountain and crosses the side of 
Sunset Hill in a ravine, down which goes the precipitous path 
to the steamboat-landing. We explore it above this, however, 
taking it at about four hundred feet elevation and ascending. 
Three of the ancient road-makers named this stream after 
themselves, each generously contributing a syllable to its 
name of Cal-den-o. It must be remembered as we start 
upon the pedestrian tour, that the people who in Philadel- 
phia cannot go a half-dozen squares on a level street without 
getting into a horse-car, think nothing, when they are here, 
of clambering for miles over the mountains before breakfast. 
Such is the exhilarating effect of the mountain air — and 
fashion. Before we start, we get our breakfast, so as to be 
sure of that much ; and then, walking inland a little way 
from the hotel, reach the " Lakelet," not far off, a pretty 
piece of water, surrounded by rocks, shrubbery, and rhodo- 
dendrons, with a rustic arbor on the edge of the bank, where 
the pedestrian takes a rest. This little lake is availed of for 
a water reservoir. Then we go on along the Sylvan Way, up 
the valley of the little stream, now almost dry. Over rustic 
stairways, among the laurel bushes, we climb, following a 
rocky pathway through the wooded glen, mounting steadily 
upward. Great jagged crags poke out, and the long pull 
up-hill takes the wind out of some of the fat fellows, but we 
keep on in good cheer. Everything is still in the wild woods, 
excepting the song of the locust, and occasionally a voice 
from the people who are wandering along the paths. Clam- 
bering over rocks up hill and down dale, and getting into a 
profuse perspiration with the exertion under a strong summer 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 217 

sun, whose rays sometimes pierce through the foliage that 
keeps off all the breezes, we watch the young squirrels dart- 
ing about, and then on a rustic bridge cross the little creek. 
Soon we come to the pretty " Caldeno Falls," where a 
straight ledge of rocks stands up and makes a waterfall that, 
in the wet season, must be a miniature Niagara ; but now in 
time of drouth, only a small current comes over one side of 
it. A tree has been cut down, and falling across the top of 
the rocky ledge, it makes, with a hand-rail and a few foot- 
boards, a rustic pathway up to the top of the fall. Above, the 
water come down over a shelving ledge of broken rocks, 
making a succession of rapids, and at intervals the stream is 
tapped to furnish a water-supply. Every householder here 
can establish his own water-works by running a pipe or a 
trou2;h out to some water-course on the mountain-side. 

Diana's bath. 

Not far above the waterfall, in the course of the rapids, a 
projecting ledge of rocks that stand almost upright across the 
stream makes a perfect basin, and here set in among the 
trees, which grow so luxuriantly around, is " Diana's Bath." 
We stop to take a drink of the cool water from the basin thus 
formed by nature, and then look at the " Moss Cataract" just 
above it, down which the water slides over an inclined bed 
of moss-covered rocks into the bath. It is a fascinating, but 
slippery-looking place, and the chaste Diana, when she used 
to sport around these pleasant dominions, must have had a 
good time gliding down this rocky slide into the bath. It is 
about fifty feet in length, and at an angle of forty-five de- 
grees, and so thickly hedged in by foliage that the sun never 
shines upon the rippling current darting down the slide into 
the basin below. We linger long in this enchanting nook, 
but ultimately leave it, to clamber again over rocks and roots 
up the path along the bank of the little stream, where, in 
cosey and retired spots, the young men and maidens from the 
hotel are reclining on the grass and enjoying each other's 
society and the scenery, for it is a glorious spot for a picnic. 
The huckleberries are ripe, and on the lower bushes under- 
neath, the teaberries are beginning to show themselves. 
Then we leave the creek, and, like all amateur wanderers 
through the woods, soon get a little mixed, because sign- 

24 



278 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

boards are missing. Coming to where four paths meet, we 
deliberate awhile and then plunge along one of them, but 
soon discover our mistake. A couple of trials on the others 
ultimately set us right, and after more walking through the 
woods and among the pretty ferns, a gradual descent of the 
hill out towards the river again brings us to the end of the 
woods path, and we have finished our exploration of the 
Sylvan Way. This woods path leads to another and appar- 
ently more travelled footway, just where it crosses a little 
rustic bridge over a stream-bed that is now dry. 

THE TRUE RIDGE PATH. 

This much travelled path is the chief pedestrian route of 
the Water Gap, and the crowning labor of the " Minsi Pio- 
neers." It is a footwalk of over two miles' length, constructed 
from the hotels up the face of the mountain, and winding in 
and out of the ravines till it reaches the summit of Mount 
Minsi. It is not a highway in the usual meaning of that 
word, but to gain some of the elevations reached by it, your 
panting breath suggests that as the most appropriate name. 
Not far away from the hotel is the entrance to this wonderful 
road, a pretty arbor, with its roof looking rather the worse 
for wear, on the front of which the Minsi Pioneers have 
carved their name, and the date, " 1875," in rustic emblems, 
together with the Latin motto " Inveniam Viam Aut Faciam," 
with which to terrify the untutored who may come this way, 
including myself, and show that they are true descendants of 
the old Roman road-makers, and like them have disappeared, 
but left this enduring work behind them. Entering, it is 
found a dusty and evidently much travelled path along the 
face of the mountain, witli frequent views through the trees 
out over the magnificent river valley. We enter it not fiir 
from its beginning, where it crosses the little rustic bridge 
above referred to. The eminent travellers that have gone 
along this way before us have written and carved their names 
all over the wood-work, stairs, and hand-rails that help to ease 
the weary route along the '' True Ridge Path" ; and it crosses 
frequent tiny bridges over the beds of mountain torrents and 
ravines, and leads steadily upward by flights of stone steps 
and inclined and tortuous ways, until, at a distance of prob- 
ably a half-mile from the entrance arbor, we come out on the 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 279 

fiice of the mountain and, at an elevation of about four hun- 
dred feet above the river, reach an open phice where there is 
a grand vievr, and another arbor perched just on the edge of 
the crag, where you can sit down, and, as you pant for breath 
and wipe off the perspiration induced by such unusual exer- 
tion, can enjoy the marvellous scene over the river, the moun- 
tains, and the valley, far away to the northward. 

THE CONDENSED STORY OF WINONA. 

This is " Winona's Cliff," and here is the condensed ver- 
sion of Winona's story, which Mr. L. W. Brodhead tells at 
length in his attractive little book about the Water Gap. 
Wissinoming was the noble chieftain of the Delawares, who 
reigned over the Minisink two centuries ago, and Winona was 
his beloved and only daughter. After skipping several pages 
descriptive of the gorgeous beauty and accomplishments of 
the fair Indian princess, it is discovered that an attractive 
young Dutchman, of high rank, named Hendrick Van Allen, 
appears upon the scene. The Holland Government sent him 
out to work copper-mines, as is alleged, but, according to the 
story, his chief occupation was going out rowing and fishing 
with Winona, in a little red canoe. We omit several more 
pages descriptive of these expeditions, simply remarking, it 
is generally noted, unlike similar voyages of the present, that 
the maiden did the rowing. In the course of time, as is some- 
times usual in such cases, Wissinoming died, causing the filial 
AVinona several paragraphs of grief, and his son, Manatam- 
many, becoming the chief, a lot of impudent Indians from 
New York and elsewhere came around to whip the young 
man, but after several years' trial found it could not be done. 
The many pages describing these Indian wars are also omitted, 
"because they have nothing to do with the story, and besides 
the prudent young Dutchman, Hendrick, managed to keep 
himself out of harm's way all the time. The wars, however, 
embroiled the Delawares with the whites, and here the fair 
Winona exerted her qualities as a diplomatist and made peace 
between them, even oifering to die as a sacrifice. The un- 
accepted proposal restored peace, and as the story goes on, 
" years of uninterrupted friendship followed." Being now 
out of danger, Hendrick reappeared, and between the several 
years of war and the subsequent years of peace, it was evi- 



280 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

dent that "Winona was getting — well, not to put too fine a 
point upon it — was verging towards the estate of an old maid. 
Several more pages describe the manner in which the spark 
of love kindled in Winona's bosom was fanned into flame by 
advancing years, until the English having conquered the 
Dutch at New York, orders were suddenly sent Hendrick to 
go home to Amsterdam. It requires many paragraphs to tell 
the difficulty with which he made up his mind to break the 
sad news to Winona, but finally he took her up on the clifl:* 
to the place where we now sit in the arbor, to do it. Here 
he read her the fatal letter (written in Dutch). The effect 
of the dialect was not surprising. She was a little out of 
breath with toiling up four hundred feet of steep hill, but, 
" standing firm and erect as the forest oak, displaying the 
heroism of her noble ancestry," Winona addressed him to the 
extent of nearly two pages of grand old English blank verse 
and " then disappeared. Hendrick ran to the cliff; caught 

her in his arms ; they reeled on the precipice ; and ." 

Such is the condensed story of the " Lover's Leap" at 
Winona's Cliff, with the full text of its ending in the book. 
The reader must imagine the rest. 

The arbor is built where the lovers made the leap, and 
back on the cliff, where Hendrick drew out of his pocket the 
fatal Dutch letter, is now a little booth, where lemonade and 
birch beer regale the fatigued but less despairing lovers of 
to day who may climb to the top of this cliff. Had lemon- 
ade been sold here in the days of the fair Winona, her fate 
might have been different. We look out over the Minisink 
from our elevated perch, and can see the hotels nestling 
among the trees, apparently on the steep mountain-side that 
incloses the view of the valley, and can also see for miles 
away over the flat land where the Delaware comes down past 
a series of islands partly formed by the incoming currents of 
Cherry and Brodhead's Creeks. Little houses nestle among 
the foliage on the hills below the hotels, and the valley grad- 
ually narrows into the Gap, the river running through the 
contracted gorge in front of us, and then grandly curving 
around first to the left and then to the right between the two 
great mountains, Tammany standing up abruptly, while 
Minsi is more sloping. All the crags are thickly wooded, 
excepting where the rocks are too steep to hold the trees. 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 281 

Here can be seen to perfection the effect of the mi^lity con- 
vulsion of nature that has let the river through the mountain- 
ridge. iVs we sit under the arbor to enjoy the glorious 
scene, a sudden puft' of wind comes and blows a lady's hat 
about a half-mile down through the Gap, — and, like Winona, 
it disappeared. Thus do perils environ the rambler in this 
wondrous region. Our thirsty party drink to AVinona's 
memory in lemonade, while the hornets cluster around us, 
for they like lemonade too, being attracted by the sugar in 
the glasses, to the dismay of some of the drinkers. 

THE PROMONTORY AND PROSPECT ROCK. 

Resuming the journey along the Ridge Path, we make a 
steady climb farther up the mountain-side, finding the woods 
strewn with rocks, and the ground covered with the dried 
leaves of last autumn. Broken trunks of trees lie around 
among the crags just where they have fallen, for the path is 
opened along the wildest part of the mountain. It leads 
over more miniature bridges, and again starts the perspira- 
tion out as we toil up the ascent. We stop to take a drink 
where a hollowed trunk of a tree is availed of to bring the 
current from a little spring out to where it is accessible, 
alongside the pathway. Winding around a grand ravine, we 
move onward and steadily upward. Much labor has been 
required in some places to hew out the road. After toiling 
for a half-mile from Winona's Cliff, the path finally brings 
us out to the edge of the mountain again, this time at the 
'' Promontory," on this side of Mount Min.si, at an elevation 
of about six hundred feet above the river, and so nearly per- 
pendicularly over the water that, if so inclined, one could 
jump dow^n into it. There is another grand view to the 
northward, far away over the hills of Monroe County, to the 
distant Pocono Mountains, v/here they gather the berries for 
our hotels. In walking around the ravine to reach the 
Promontory we have gone by much of the first curve of the 
Gap, so that now the view to the southward shows the river 
gorge curving grandly around to the right hand between the 
mountains still towering far above us. Beneath our feet, 
along the edge of the w^ater, runs the railway, its four bright 
rails like streaks upon the ground. Up here the leaves have 
already begun to turn, and the ladies collect foliage of the 

24- 



282 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

variegated hues. The clouds creep over Mount Tammany, 
■which looks like a vast recumbent elephant, and their shadows 
move slowly over the dark green trees. Down in the bottom 
of the gorge, on the river-shore alongside Blockhead Moun- 
tain, is a narrow space of cultivated land. Looking north- 
ward, far below us and over on the other side of the inter- 
vening ravine, can be seen the top of the arbor on Winona's 
Cliff. The little row-boats creep along the smooth surface of 
the river like tiny insects, and tied to its wharf is the minia- 
ture steamboat, dwarfed by the huge surroundings. On top 
of the Promontory arbor is the white flag we had discerned 
from its deck when out on the river below. It is found to 
be a piece of white muslin, whereon is put, in rather demor- 
alized-looking letters, " Philada. Kamblers, 1881." The sign- 
writers who did the work must have been out of breath from 
toiling up the mountain. 

Then we climb still higher up the path over the rough 
sandstone, on a tortuous and difficult way, and mount a hun- 
dred feet farther to the " Prospect Rock," where there is 
another arbor. This gives almost the same view as the Prom- 
ontory, but, as it is more elevated and back from the edge 
of the precipice, it loses the grandeur of the abrupt scene 
over the water. In fact, the Promontory gives, probably, the 
finest landscape at the Water Gap, but from the Prospect 
Kock the eye will carry to the northward many miles over 
the Minisink, while nearer, the white walls of the buildings 
at the Gap village nestle among the green foliage almost cov- 
ering them. Excepting when the wind rustles through the 
trees, all is silent, though the occasional hum of a bumble- 
bee who, like us, has come up to this elevated region, shows 
that his bumble-ship is more neighborly than is always agree- 
able. The Ridge Path goes on over rocks and stones and 
through the woods a mile farther, to the "summit." It 
mounts higher, but the result scarcely repays the toil, for, 
though there are long and grand views both north and south 
on the mountain-top, they lack the transcendent beauty of 
the scene from the less elevated spots just over the river's 
edge. The summit scene to the northward is called the 
" Miner's View," and that to the southward the " Sapper's 
View." Here, it used to be the custom annually to raise the 
flag on the highest tree on the top of Mount Minsi, and here 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 283 

the Ridge Patli ends. We have explored it thoroughly, and 
then, turning about, scramble down the hill again, and are 
astonished to find that this, in its way, is as difficult a task 
as the ascent, though it brings diiFerent muscles into play. 
Looking sharply at our footsteps over the rough rocks and 
giving only occasional glances at the scenery, we turn into 
another path, and, after stumbling along what appears to be 
several thousand feet down alongside a ravine and getting 
very hot at the work, we come to the Eureka Glen, which is 
the most romantic gem at the Water Gap. 



XXXVIII. 

THE DELAWAEE WATEK GAP. 

THE EUREKA GLEN. 

The great family at the Delaware Water Gap — for all 
places have their great families — are the Brodheads. The 
sturdy Captain Kichard Brodhead, of the grenadiers, came 
over from Yorkshire in 1664 to help capture New York from 
the Dutch, and his descendants wandered into Monroe 
County, Pennsylvania, so that there might rise up in the 
sixth generation the present popular landlords at the Gap, — 
W. A. Brodhead, of the Kittatinny House, and L. W. 
Brodhead, of the Water Gap House. The sacred records of 
this charming place are all kept in the ancient hotel register 
of the Kittatinny House, — a book that is treasured as a price- 
less gem by its owner. Herein are recorded all the trans- 
actions of the old time road-makers, and its pages, among 
other important matters, contain the history of the early ex- 
ploration of the gem of the Gap, — the Eureka Glen. It is 
therein written that on August 17, 1852, a party of three 
ladies and three gentlemen from Philadelphia " did, with 
great toil, labor, work, and diligence, discover, lay out, survey, 
and explore a certain waterfall, cascade, cataract, stream, basin, 
and grotto, being and lying within the bounds of Monroe 
County aforesaid, and with divers instruments and tools, to 



284 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Avit : One dull axe, one sharp liatcliet, two jack-knives, and 
one pine-tree, did thereto and thereabout build, construct, 
and open a certain path, or public highway, for the use and 
benefit of ail foot-passengers and pedestrians forever, and did, 
upon and over the said stream, erect a certain bridge, or cause- 
way, of rocks, and, then and there, by virtue of the powers, 
privileges, and immunities in them as discoverers of the said 
location, by the law of nations vested, did thereto assign the 
following names, to wit : To the said falls the name of 
' Eureka Falls' ; to the said bridge of rocks, the name of 
' The Bridge of Sighs' ; to the said bath or basin, the name 
of ' Rebecca's Bath,' and to the said grotto, the name ' Moss 
Grotto' ; and moreover, at the same time and place above 
mentioned, it was by the said parties then and there assembled 
unanimously resolved and determined that the said Falls, 
Bath, Grotto, and Bridge, so as aforesaid more particularly 
named and described, were, and the same are pronounced 
and decreed, and shall hereafter be deemed and taken to be, 
iu all respects, superior to all other Falls, Baths, Bridges, 
and Grottos \vliatsoever, and wheresoever situated, within 
ten miles circular of the home and habitation of William 
A. Brodhead, proprietor of the house commonly known as 
the Kittatinny House." This formidable declaration is duly 
signed and sealed, and it records the first exploration of the 
Eureka Glen, nearly thirty years ago. The " Bridge of 
Sighs" was afterwards destroyed by the opening of a carriage- 
road near the river-bank, but the other attractions remain, 
the present excellent path through the Glen having been 
made by Mr. Childs, who, like all other visitors, thinks this 
the gem of the Gap. 

High up on the side of the mountain rises the Hunter's 
Spring, where Wissinoming and the fair Winona went to 
slake their thirst ; and the stream from it comes down a pre- 
cipitous gorge, wild and romantic beyond all description, the 
overhanging foliage shutting out the rays of the sun for the 
entire distance, so that the growth of mosses and ferns is very 
beautiful. At times the piles of moss-covered rocks almost 
cover the stream that percolates through them, and makes a 
succession of cascades for over a thousand feet down the in- 
cline, until it darts under the railroad and out into the river. 
Entering the Glen from the top, the broad foot-path cleared 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 285 

of rocks is a pleasure to walk upon, as we turn into it from 
the "True Ridge Path." The pretty stream runs swiftly 
down the Glen, over its broad bed of moss-grown rocks, 
although the drouth has shrunken its dimensions. The path 
has long rustic stairways and bridges, so placed to display all 
the beauties of the Glen. At times it crosses the wild gorge, 
which is certainly the most enchanting of all the wonders of 
the place. As we sit on the rustic benches and listen to the 
running of the water, and the tinkling of the distant cow-bells 
down in the valley, with the foliage dense overhead and the 
cool air fanning us, the effect is delicious. The Glen is abrupt 
in its descent, so that the path goes down lengtliened stair- 
ways and winds in full view far below, as you look through 
the trees down the wild, rough, rock-lined gorge. 

We pass the Falls, where but a small stream is now going 
over into the Grotto, where the brownstone rocks stand up 
like a grand amphitheatre, and come to Rebecca's Bath, a 
little water-basin formed so naturally that it looks as if art 
had put it just at the exit of the Glen by the river. We 
come down the steps, some made of rustic branches and some 
of rocks, piled into a winding staircase, and here find along- 
side Rebecca's Bath the finest arbor at the Gap, built with 
open sides and pyramid roofs, all constructed and highly or- 
namented with the branches of trees. Appropriate mottoes 
are inscribed upon it in rustic work, and, as we sit in the 
arbor, the water runs over the edge of the bath alongside us, 
and disappears under a little bridge. Such is the" Eureka 
Glen. 

THE dragon's jaw. 

We turn from the Glen upon a path constructed along the 
fiice of the precipitous clifls that here make most of the 
mountain-side. Scrambling over more rocks, for this path 
has not been cleared like the one in the Glen, we crawl along 
the fiice of the crags that tower far above. This is the Giant's 
Cliff, and it discloses several caves, just such caverns as you 
would imagine a giant hiding in, while down the cliff he 
could throw you hundreds of" feet to the carriage-road far 
below. Gradually climbing up a zigzag route" along the 
rocks the path goes through a fissure cleft in the face of the 
cliff, that makes the " Dragon's Jaw." Roudi rocks stand 



286 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

up on the outer edge for teetli and fangs, and it looks for all 
the world as if the monster would close the jagged orifice, 
and crush us as the giant jaws caiue together. You can 
stand straight upright within the Dragon's enormous mouth. 
It was a tough job to get up there, and some of us went 
through it, while others didn't. Tlien we zigzag down the 
face of the rock again, and going around another crag, climb 
a rustic stairway, and sit upon the stones to rest. The strat- 
ified rocks lie in vast ledges, pried open by the roots of the 
trees apparently. This is the " Tower Rock," piled up enor- 
mous and high, and in some places looking as if built there 
for a wall of masonry. 

Winona's Clifi" is above, and we pass under it, scrambling 
up hill and down dale, over the stones and roots along the 
rocky path, with huge crags often protruding f\ir over our 
heads. It is a hot job laboring along this rough path on a 
summer's day, and strongly provocative of thirst. Finally 
we come out on the face of the clifi" and have a good view 
over the river valley, with its water bubbling over the rapids 
near the Jersey shore. This whole region seems set on edge, 
with enough loose rocks lying around to build the biggest 
city in the world. The rough road finally brings the perse- 
vering pilgrim out on the Ridge path again, at the pleasant 
nook known as the " Lovers' Retreat." Across, on the very 
top of Blockhead Mountain, a venturesome Englishman has 
built a villa in a lonely spot, and amuses himself raising- 
strawberries. The river rapids flow almost under his feet. 
A short distance more up-hill and our weary walk ends at 
the hotel, bringing back a dusty, footsore, and hungry party, 
who nevertheless appreciated the romantic beauties which 
only a long pedestrian tour could disclose at the Gap. 

THE CHERRY VALLEY AND STROUDSBURG. 

Having had enough of walking, let us now take a carriage 
with a strong brake — necessary in this region of steep hills 
— and explore the pretty valley of Cherry Creek, which ex- 
tends to the southwest along the northern base of the Blue 
Ridge, and has been described as " full of dimpling hills and 
fine orchards, among which stalwart men live to a ripe old 
age upon the purest apple-whisky." With brake on we slide 
along the road, which goes about three hundred and fifty feet 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 287 

down hill in less than a half-mile. We pass the pretty little 
" Church of the Mountain," built by the Presbyterians, and 
then through the Delaware Water G-ap village, full of board- 
ing-houses. We drive up the broad valley, with the creek 
meandering through the bottom-land, and the cows trying to 
pick up a living among the rocks on the hill-sides. They 
have old-time log and plaster houses out here in Monroe 
County, and the inhabitants utilize their tomato-cans for 
flower-pots. Circus-bills are posted on the outbuildings, and 
we are told that nothing so stirs up this region as a travelling 
show. The creek furnishes water-power for slate-factories, 
whose dams make pretty cascades. All the sign-boards point 
to the Water Gap one way and the Wind Gap the other way, 
as the road gradually ascends the side of the Fox Hill, which 
is the ridge dividing Cherry Valley from the Pocono Valley 
to the north wnrd. Thus is this charming Cherry Valley said 
to be located between wind and water, and, mounting the Fox 
Hill, we get a lon<? view over the romantic region. The 
rocks are almost all slate- measures, among which we wind 
until, crossing the summit of Fox Hill, the Pocono Valley 
on the other side is disclosed, with Stroudsburg spread along 
the bottom, and the Pocono Mountain range far beyond. 
Down in the lowest part can be seen the locomotives gliding 
along the railway on their journey from the Delaware River 
to Scranton, to reach which they pass the village with the 
unique name of Tobyhanna. It is a grand panorama, this 
broad valley spread out at our feet, with its villages scattered 
along the centre, and the Stroudsburg Methodist Church 
spire rising loftily above the rest of the town. Quickly we 
slide down the hill, with the brake on, past the little stone 
" powder-house," for they have to store their gunpowder a 
half-mile away, and then over the level land into the town. 
Stroudsburg stands in the Minisink, the hunting-ground 
of the Lenni Lenapes, and spreads along the Pocono Creek, 
with which McMichael's and Brodhead's Creeks unite on the 
eastern edge of the town, and then flow together as Brod- 
head's Creek down to the Delaware. We cross McMichael's 
Creek below a beautiful cascade. Daniel Brodhead originally 
called the place Dansbury, but Daniel Stroud improved and 
newly named the town, and his son, George M. Stroud, came 
to Philadelphia in early life to practice law, and ultimately 



288 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

became a judge. He always loved his native place, and they 
tell how he once made it a visit, leaving, as lawyers are wont 
to do, a placard on his office door which read " Gone to 
Stroudsburg ; return in half an hour." It is a pleasant town, 
extending at great length along its Main Street, with rows of 
shade trees and comfortable houses built behind broad gardens. 
The residents sit on their cosey porches and watch us as we go 
by. The ancient graveyard stands near the edge of Brod- 
head's Creek, down which we drive on the return to the Water 
Gap. Fancy cottage architecture has reached up here, mak- 
ing some of the suburban houses quite ornamental. Strouds- 
burg is a centre of the tanning trade, and its people also 
make thousands of clothes-pins for Philadelphia housekeepers. 
Through the buckwheat -fields, all in white blossom, we drive 
back towards the dark Blue Ridge, and as evening falls go 
through the miniature gap, where Brodhead's Creek flows 
between the Fox and Shawnee Hills. Past water-cure estab- 
lishments and pulp paper-mills down the creek the carriage 
glides, through a wild gorge where the new railroad is build- 
ing high up on one side, while the old railroad runs on the 
other. Then we come into full view of the Water Gap, with 
our hotel a white spot up on the hill. Passing the " Church 
of the Mountain" and the Methodist Church over on the 
opposite side, we cross Cherry Creek near a pleasant cottage 
nestling among the trees, and then climb the hill in the dark- 
ness to our hotel, with its beacon-lights shining out as the 
katydids hold their usual evening disputation. 

REMINISCENCES OF THE GAP. 

A volume could be filled with the history, the romance, 
and the beauties of the Water Gap. It could be told how 
the whites, by their treacherous " Walk," in the year 1737, 
took the Minisink hunting-grounds away from the unwilling 
Indians, and caused relentless wars for years afterwards. It 
could be told how Nicholas Depui, the Huguenot, came here 
to seek refuge from religious persecution in France, and set- 
tled at the Water Gap in 1725, living in amity with the In- 
dians for many years, so that the great passage of the waters 
was known as " Depui's Gap." Also, it could be told how 
the three brothers. La Bar, more refugees from French relig- 
ious persecution, desiring to be solitary, built themselves a 



THE DELAWARE WATER GAP. 289 

cabin just below tbe Gap, and plodded miles through the gorge 
to get their wheat ground at the nearest neighbor's — Depui's 
mill. They married Dutch wives, but in 1808 this region 
became too crowded for them, and one of the brothers, at the 
ripe age of eighty-five, then emigrated to Ohio to find more 
room. His wife died when he was ninety-eight years old. and 
out on the Ohio frontier, in his one hundredth year, he took 
to himself a second wife, and then lived till he reached one 
hundred and five. This venerable Benedict left his son at 
the Gap, and he — George La Bar — was its famous centena- 
rian, who died at the age of one hundred and Seven in 1876, 
being a vigorous wood-chopper almost to the day of his death. 
A great-grandson of the Ohio patriarch, and grand-nephew 
of George La Bar, who is one of the youthful pillars of the 
Ledger Office to-day, expects to imitate the family longevity 
and be still a hearty youth upon the Ledger corner until about 
the year 1970. George La Bar's son was twenty-one when 
he married his wife aged thirteen, and both are vigorous 
octogenarians. George's brother lived beyond ninety-eight. 
Such is the longevity induced by the bracing air of these 
marvellous mountains. AVe might explore the Bushkill fiir- 
ther up the Delaware and be enchanted by its beauteous falls ; 
or recite the story of the unfortunate Tatamy, the veritable 
" Last of the Mohicans," whose memory is kept green by the 
appellation of " Tat's Gap." We might recount the cata- 
logue of Indian relics found in the many graves exhumed in 
the Minisink, or describe the long wars after the infamous 
" Walk," and how Depui's house for many years was used as 
the outpost fortress by the whites. It was iVntoine Dutot, a 
companion of Stephen Girard, who founded the Water Gap 
village, and opened the first road through the Gap in 1800, 
afterwards making it a toll-road. Tradition tells how the 
mischievous youth of that day drove through his gate, pre- 
tending not to understand his broken English when he asked 
for toll. He selected his own grave on Sunset Hill, and lies 
there solitary and alone, while the locomotives draw their 
trains over what was formerly his highway through the Gap. 

N t 25 



290 BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES. 

Here will end our rambling. The summer is over, and the 
wanderers are returning to town. They have been to the 
seaside, the farm, or on the mountains ; to the myriads of 
pleasant places that attract the summer visitor, and come 
back satiated with sight-seeing, and, possibly, with flat pocket- 
books. The hundreds of thousands of Ledger readers have 
been on the go, in the flesh or the spirit, since early in June. 
It has been demonstrated that the short excursion will give 
as much recreation and at less cost than the more elaborate 
tour. The object of these sketches has been to show that it 
is within almost every one's power to get summer recreation. 
No matter how exacting the employment, a day can be got 
now and then, for a short trip, and none of these " Hambles" 
has occupied the writer more than a day or two in the making. 
Most of them were taken in a single day. It is the brief ex- 
cursion, so sharply in contrast with the regular daily occupa- 
tion, that gives the best relaxation, if taken wisely and with- 
out dissipation. The neighborhood of Philadelphia presents 
abundant opportunity for such short trips, and in the series 
now closing the desire has been to delineate the method and 
the comparative ease Vv^ith which they can be taken. We have 
the finest Park in the world at our own doors for rambling 
over. We are within two or three hours' ride of all the great 
seacoast resorts ; and four hours will take us to the Blue 
Eidge, and seven hours to the top of the Alleghenies. Railway 
extensions and improvements during later years have made 
hundreds of most charming places easily accessible, and there 
is no end to the attractions they off"er for the briefest as well as 
for more protracted summer sauntering. Without in any way 
breaking in upon the demands of a daily newspaper life, 
these " Eamblos" have been taken, and the sketches of them 
hastily prepared and generally on the spot. As the series 
has progressed, it has had the eifect of awakening new in- 
terest in the attractive places visited ; and has possibly aided 
in swelling the current of brief excursion travel out of Phila- 
delphia, which has increased this season to an extent far 
greater than ever before known. With the hope that the 
labors of the summer may have given pleasure to all the 
great circle of readers to whom the Ledger daily goes, I will 
now close the record of these " Brief Summer llambles." 



INDEX. 



Aberdeen, 129. 

Abington, 239. 

Absecoin Beach, 32. 

Absecom Light-house, 36. 

Adams' Express Company, 78. 

Adams, Ignatius, 224. 

Allegheny Mountain, 187, 201, 226. 

Allegheny Portage Railroad, 187. 

Allegheny River, 189. 

Allegrippus, 220. 

Allen, James, 245. 

Allentown, 245. 

Allentown Line, 178. 

Altoona, 202, 220. 

Altoona shops, 203. 

Alum Spring, 224, 227. 

Ambler, 239. 

American Steamship Line, 45. 

Amerique, steamer, 73. 

Andalusia, 24, 59. 

Andre, Major, 109. 

Anthony's Nose, 115. 

Aqueduct, 194, 

Arch Spring, 201. 

Ardmore, 168. 

Armstrong, John, 198. 

Arnold, Benedict, 109. 

Arnold's treason, 120. 

Art Museum, New York, 155. 

Asbury Park, 71, 81. 

Ashbourne, 238. 

Assunpink Creek, 29. 

Astor, John Jacob, 150. 

Astor Library, 157. 

Astor reredos, 144. 

Astor, William, 150. 

Atlantic City, 32. 

Atlanticville, 78. 

Babcock, General, 76. 



Back River, 130. 

Bald Eagle Valley, 201. 

Baldwin, 175. 

Ball Mountain, 110. 

Baltimore, 131. 

Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, 131. 

Baltimore and Potomac Railroad, 

130. 
Barge oflBce, New York, 146. 
Battery Park, 87, 143, 146. 
Battle Monument, Baltimore, 133. 
Bay Ridge, 88. 
Bay View, 130, 135. 
Beach Thoroughfare, 33. 
Beacon Hill, 81, 121. 
Bear Mountain, 248, 249. 
Bedloe's Island, 67, 87. 
Beecher, Henry Ward, 114, 160. 
Belle Isle, 82. 
Bell's Gap, 201. 
Bell's Gap Railroad, 212. 
Bell's Mills, 201, 202. 
Belmont, 11. 
Belmont, August, 149. 
Belvidere, 265. 
Belvidere Delaware Railroad, 61, 

260. 
Bennett, James Gordon, 104, 122, 

150. 
Bennington Furnace, 221. 
Bergen Hill, 67. 
Bergen Point, 142. 
Bernhardt, Sarah, 149. 
Bethayres, 141. 
Bethlehem, 243. 
Bethlehem Iron Company, 243. 
Beverly, 24. 
Bierstadt, Albert, 110. 
Billingsport, 50. 
Bingen, 242. 

291 



292 



INDEX. 



Bird-in-Hand, 172. 

Birdsboro', 182. 

Birmingbam, 201. 

Black Log Mountain, 198. 

Black Rock Tunnel, 183. 

Blair, Thomas, 222. 

Blair's Gap, 187. 

Blairsville, 233. 

Blairsville Intersection, 233. 

Blockhead Mountain, 267, 270. 

Bloomsburg, Robert, Captain, 102. 

Bloomsdale, 25, 59. 

Blue Mountain, 196, 256, 268. 

Blue Ridge, 268. 

Bolivar, 233. 

Bonaparte's Park, 27. 

Booth, John Wilkes, 137. 

Booth, Junius Brutus, 137. 

Bordentown, 27. 

Boulevards, New York, 156. 

Bound Brook, 142. 

Bound Brook route, 140, 238, 261. 

Bowery, New York, 157. 

Bowling Green, 147. 

Braddock's, 236. 

Braddock's expedition, 173. 

Bradford, William, 16, 145. 

Branchbufg, 85. 

Branchport Creek, 80. 

Brandywine Creek, 54, 126, 171. 

Breakneck Mountain, 121. 

Brick Church, New York, 150 

Bridesburg, 23, 58. 

Bridge of Sighs, 284. 

Brigantine Beach, 33. 

Brighton Beach, 91, 93, 94. 

Brink, J. W. E. H. G. A. F. H., 

250. 
Bristol, 25, 59. 
Broad Mountain, 249, 256. 
Broad Street, Newark, 65. 
Broad Street, North, 17. 
Broad Top Mountain, 198. 
Broadway, New York, 143, 146. 
Brocken Kill, 115. 
Brodhead's Creek, 270, 287. 
Brodhead family, 283. 
Brodhead, L. W., 279, 283. 
Brodhead, W. A., 283. 
Brooklyn, 87, 158. 
Brooklyn Heights, 160. 
Brooklyn Seaside Home, 98. 
Brown, L. B., 76. 
Brownstone, 261, 262. 



Brush Mountain, 201, 211, 213, 216, 

218. 
Bryn Mawr, 168. 
Buchanan, James, 173. 
Buffalo Creek, 192, 194. 
Bull Hill, 121. 
Bull's Island, 263. 
Burgoyne, General, 116. 
Burlington, 25. 
Burning Mine, 258. 
Burr-Hamilton duel, 104. 
Bush River, 129. 
Bushkill Creek, 264. 
Buttermilk Falls, 117. 

Caldeno Creek, 276. 

Caldeno Falls, 277. 

Caldwell, 114. 

Cain, 171. 

Calypso, 244. 

Cambria Iron Company, 231. 

Camden and Amboy Railroad, 27, 

69, 103. 
Camden and Atlantic Railroad, 31. 
Cameron, J. Donald, 177. 
Cameron, Simon, 175. 
Canda, Miss, 163. 
Canton, Baltimore, 131. 
Cape May, 41. 
Car-shops, Altoona, 207. 
Car-wheel shops, 205. 
Castle Clinton, 146. 
Castle Garden, 143, 146. 
Castle William, 87. 
Catasauqua, 245. 
Catharine Street Ferry, 158. 
Cave Mountain, 201. 
Centennial Fountain, 168. 
Centennial Hill, 135. 
Central Park, 153. 
Chadd's Ford, 126. 
Chalet by the Sea, 74. 
Chalfant's Buss Line, 196. 
Chamounix, 10. 
Charles Evans' Cemetery, 181. 
Chelton Hills, 238. 
Chemical tests, 206. 
Cherry Creek, 286. 
Cherry Island Flats, 53. 
Chesapeake Bay, 128. 
Chesapeake, frigate, 145. 
Chester, 51, 124. 
Chester Creek, 125. 
Chester Valley, 169. 



INDEX. 



293 



Chester Valley Railroad, 170, 184. 

Chestnut Ridge, 233. 

Chew Mansion, 21. 

Childs' Arbor, 274. 

Childs, George W., 75, 275, 284. 

Christiana, 171. 

Christiana Creek, 53, 126. 

Church of the Mountain, 287. 

Churcher gravestones, 145. 

Churches in Brooklyn, 160, 161. 

City Hall Park, New York, 148. 

City of Richmond, steamboat, 72. 

Clams, 91, 99. 

Clay, Rev. Dr., 47. 

Claymont, 53, 126. 

Clayton, 40. 

Clearfield Creek, 222. 

Clifton, 88. 

Clinch, Deputy Collector, 150. 

Clinton Avenue, Brooklyn, 160. 

Clinton Castle, 146. 

Clinton, De Witt, 163. 

Clinton, Fort, 116. 

Clinton Hall, 157. 

Clinton Street, Trenton, 30. 

Clothes-pins, 288. 

Coal traffic, 250. 

Coal-mines, 230, 235, 236, 253, 254, 

257. 
Coalport, 258. 
Coatesville, 171. 
Coke-burning, 236. 
Coke-ovens, 233, 235. 
Cold Spring, Cape May, 41. 
Cold Spring, West Point, 120. 
Collier trestle, 214, 217. 
Collin, Rev. Dr., 46. 
Colored Orj)han Asylum, 104. 
Columbia and Reading Railroad, 

174. 
Columbia bridge, 185. 
Columbia Railroad, 166. 
Columbus, Fort, 87. 
Communipaw, 67, 142. 
Concourse, Coney Island, 93, 98. 
Cone, Captain, 22. 
Conemaugh, 231. 
Conemaugh Furnace, 232. 
Conemaugh River, 188, 189, 222, 

223, 230. 
Conestoga Creek, 172. 
Conestoga Indians, 172. 
Conewago Creek, 175. 
Coney Island, 89, 92, 161, 163. 



Coney Island Boulevard, 164. 
Conshohocken, 184. 
Constitution Island, 119. 
Convent of Mount St. Vincent, 

107. 
Convent of Our Lady of Angels, 

114. 
Convent of Sacred Heart, 104. 
Conway, John, 17. 
Cooke, Jay, 238. 
Cooper Institute, 157. 
Coopersburg, 242. 
Cope, Caleb, 274. 
Coplay, 246. 
Coppa, Professor, 86. 
Corbins, the, 97. 
Cornwall, 121. 
Cornwall ore-banks, 179. 
Courtenay, Lord, 104. 
Cozzens', 117. 
Cramp's ship-yard, 23. 
Crandall, Coney Island, 96. 
Cranston, Hiram, 118. 
Crawford, Colonel William, 235. 
Cresson Springs, 223. 
Cresson, the artist, 15. 
Crosswick's Creek, 27. 
Croton Aqueduct, 155. 
Croton reservoirs, 153. 
Croton River, 111. 
Crow Nest, 119. 
Crown Inn, 243. 
Crum Lynne, 124. 
Cunningham Castle, 110. 
Curtis, J. AV., 75. 
Custer Monument, 118. 
Cygnus, steamboat, 87. 

Daily News, Coney Island, 96. 

Dairy, 8. 

Darby, 123. 

Dauphin, 191. 

Davis, General W. W. H., 240 

Deal Beach, 71, 81. 

Del an CO, 24, 

Delaware boundary, 126. 

Delaware City, 56. 

Delaware Division Canal, 25, 59 
264. 

Delaware, Fort, 55. 

Delaware Indians, 195, 201, 279. 

Delaware, Lackawanna and West- 
ern Railroad, 66, 103, 266. 

Delaware Peninsula Railroad, 127. 



25* 



294 



INDEX. 



Delaware River, 22, 44, 124, 141, 

260, 269. 
Delaware Station, 267. 
Delaware Water Gap, 266, 268, 274, 

283. 
Democrat, Maucli Chunk, 251. 
Depui, Nicholas, 288. 
Derry, 179, 234. 
Diana's Bath, 277. 
Dickson, Thomas, 266. 
Dillersville, 174. 
Disston Mausoleum, 15. 
Disston Saw-Works, 58. 
Dobbins, R. J., 74. 
Dobbs' Ferry, 109. 
Dobbs, John, 109. 
Donderberg, 112, 114. 
Downingtown, 170. 
Dows, David, 110. 
Doylestown, 240. 
Dragon's Jaw, 271, 285. 
Drexel Cottage, 75. 
Druid Hill Park, 133. 
Druid Lake, 136. 
Duncan's Island, 192. 
Duncannon, 192. 
Dunellin, 142. 
Duponts' works, 51, 53. 
Dutot, Antoine, 289. 
Dwarf locomotive, 232. 

Eagle, 169. 

East Broad Top Railroad, 199. 

East Long Branch, 74, 

East Mauch Chunk, 250. 

East Pennsylvania Railroad, 245. 

East River, 87, 158. 

East River Bridge, 87, 158. 

Easton, 264. 

Ebensburg, 222, 223. 

Eddington, 59. 

Eddystone Mills, 124. 

Edgar Thomson Steel- Works, 237. 

Edge Hill, 239. 

Edgely, 8. 

Edgemoor Works, 53. 

Edgewater, 24. 

Edgewood, 130. 

Edison, Thos. A., 63. 

Egg Harbor City, 32. 

Elberon, 71, 76. 

Elizabeth, 64, 142. 

Elizabeth Furnace, 202. 

Elizabethport, 65, 142. 



Elizabethtown, 174. 
Elk Creeks, 127. 
Elk River, 128. 
Elkton, 127. 
Ellis' Island, 67. 
Erie Basin, 103. 
Erie Canal barges, 106. 
Erie Railway, 10.3, 122. 
Eureka Falls, 285. 
Eureka Glen, 274, 283. 

Fairmount Park, 7. 

Falls village, 10, 185. 

Farmingdale, 70. 

Field, Cyrus W., 109. 

Fifth Avenue, New York, 149. 

Fishing Creek, 191. 

Fishkill Landing, 122. 

Fitler's cordage-mills, 23. 

Five-Mile Bar, 23. 

Flat Rock Tunnel, 184. 

Flemington, 262. 

Fletcher Lake, 84. 

Flirtation Walk, 120. 

Florence, 232. 

Florence Heights, 26. 

Fonthill, 107. 

Ford, Superintendent, 216. 

Forks of Delaware River, 264. 

Forrest, Edwin, 107. 

Forrest, Edwin, steamboat, 22, 

Forrest-Macready riots, 157. 

Fort Clinton, 116. 

Fort Columbus, 87. 

Fort Delaware, 55. 

Fort Hamilton, 88. 

Fort Independence, 114. 

Fort Lafoyette, 88. 

Fort Lee, 104, 105. 

Fort McHenry, 139. 

Fort Mifflin, 49. 

Fort Montgomery, 116. 

Fort Putnam, 119. 

Fort Tompkins, 88. 

Fort Wadsworth, 88. 

Fort AVashington, 239. 

Fort Washington Heights, 104. 

Fort Wayne Railroad, 237. 

Fort Wood, 87. 

Fostoria, 201. 

Fox Hills, 270, 287. 

Frankford, 58. 

Franklin and Marshall College, 173. 

Franklin, Benjamin, 174. 



INDEX. 



295 



Franklyn Cottage, 76. 

Frazer, 170. 

Freas, Major, 21. 

Freehold, 70. 

Freehold and Jamesburg Railroad, 

69. 
Friedlander, Julius, 16. 
Fulton Ferry, 165. 
Fulton, Robert, 145, 173. 

Gail, G. W., 134. 

Galilee, 79. 

Gallatin, Albert, 145. 

Gallitzin, 221. 

Gap, 171. 

Garibaldi, 108. 

Garrison, Commodore, 75. 

Garrison Mausoleum, 163. 

Garrisons', 117. 

Gee's Point, 119. 

George's Hill, 11, 168. 

Germantown, 21. 

Gesner, Charles, 109. 

Giant's CliflF, 285. 

Ginter, Philip, 253. 

Glamorgan Iron Company, 197. 

Glassboro', 40. 

Glenloch, 170. 

Glenoklen, 123. 

Glenwood Cemetery, 18. 

Gloucester, 39, 48. 

Gnadenhutten, 247. 

Godey, L. A., 16. 

Godfrey, Thomas, 16. 

Goelet Mansion, 149. 

Goshen, Ruth, 97. 

Gospel Hill, 211. 

Gould, Jay, 151. 

Governor's House, Harrisburg, 177. 

Governor's Island, 87, 146. 

Gowanus Bay, 87, 164. 

Gowanus Heights, 161. 

Grace Church, New York, 149. 

Graeme Park, 239. 

GrafiF, Frederick, 16. 

Grand Central Depot, 151. 

Grant's cottage, 75. 

Grasshopper War, 195. 

Gravesend Bay, 89. 

Gravity Railroad, 254. 

Gray's Ferry, 123. 

Great Bear Cave, 234. 

Great Pond, 82. 

Greeley, Horace, 163. 



Green, Dr. G. G., 39. 

Green's Pond, 75. 

Green Mount Cemetery, 137. 

Greenburg, 109. 

Greensburg, 234. 

Greenwich Piers, 48. 

Greenwood Cemetery, 87, 100, 161. 

Grinnell Mansion, 110. 

Gunpowder River, 130. 

Guttenberg Brewery, 104. 

Gwynedd, 239. 

Hackensack River, 67. 
Iladdonfield, 31. 
Haldeman's Island, 192. 
Hannastown, 235. 
Hamilton, Alexander, 145. 
Hamilton-Burr duel, 104. 
Hamilton, Fort, 88. 
Hammonton, 32. 
Harlan &, Hollingsworth Company, 

127. 
Harlem, 106, 156. 
Harris, John, 178, 195. 
Harrisburg, 176. 
Harsimus Cove, 67. 
Hastings, H. J., 80. 
Hastings-on-the-Hudson, 108. 
Hatboro', 239. 
Haverall's Cave, 197. 
Haverford College, 168. 
Haverstraw, 111. 
Havre de Grace, 129. 
Heidelberg, 180. 
Hellertown, 242. 
Hencke, Julius, 32. 
Herald, New York, 148. 
Hermit's Pool, 19. 
Herring, Captain Jim, 102. 
Hertzog Hall, 63. 
Hickory Town, 173. 
High Bridge, 155. 
High Torn, 111. 
Highlands of the Hudson, 110, 113, 

122. 
Hill Church, 180. 
Hillside, 234. 
Hilton, Judge, 150. 
Hoboken, 103. 
Hoey, John, 74, 76. 
Hoffman, Matilda, 110. 
Hokendauqua, 246. 
Holland, 263. 
Hollidaysburg, 187. 



296 



INDEX. 



Hollywood, 76. 
Hook Mountain, 110. 
Horseshoe Bend, 47. 
Horseshoe Curve, 219. 
House of Correction, 24, 58. 
Howard Park, 130. 
Hudson, Hendrick, 108. 
Hudson River, 67, 102, 143. 
Hudson River Highlands, 113. 
Hughes, John, 240. 
Hull, Commodore, 16. 
Hummelstown, 179. 
Humphrey, John, 240. 
Hunter's Spring, 284. 
Huntingdon, 199. 
Huntingdon and Broad Top Rail- 
road, 199. 
Huntingdon, Countess of, 200. 
Huyler, Dr., 108. 

Idlewild, 121. 

Inclined planes, 166, 188, 227, 248, 

254. 
Independence, Fort, 114. 
Independence, Mount, 120. 
Indian Rock, 21. 
Indian's Head, Palisades, 108. 
lona Island, 114. 
Iron-mills, 242, 244, 247, 264. 
Iron Pier, Coney Island, 90, 93. 
Iron Pier, Long Branch, 74. 
Iron Springs, 224, 227, 236. 
Iron Steamboat Company, 85. 
Irving, Washington, 110. 
Irvington, 109. 
Irwin, 236. 
Isabella Coke-Works, 233. 

Jack's Narrows, 198. 
Jackson, Dr., 226. 
Jahns, Joseph, 232. 
Jamesburg, 70. 
Jefferson, Mount, 258. 
Jenkintown, 140, 238. 
Jersey City, 67, 102. 
Jim, 250. 

John Bull's farm, 184. 
Johns Hopkins Hospital, 137. 
Johnstown, 187, 231. 
Jones' Falls, 132. 
Juniata River, 193. 

Kaighn's Point, 47. 
Kane, Dr., 15, 173. 



Katydids, 267. 

Kearney, General Philip, 145. 
Keith, Sir William, 239. 
Kelpius, John, 19. 
Kemp's Window War, 152. 
Kettle Notch, 211. 
Key, Francis Scott, 139. 
Kickenapawling, 231. 
Kidd, Captain, 121. 
Kill von Kull, 65, 142. 
Kincora Creek, 26. 
King, William, 44. 
King's bridge, 157. 
Kinzer's, 172. 
Kishicoquillas, 197. 
Kishicoquillas Valley, 196. 
Kiskiminetas River, 233. 
Kittanning Point, 219. 
Kittatinny House, 271, 274. 
Kittatinny Mountain, 177, 190, 247, 

266, 268. 
Kittatinny, steamboat, 271. 
Klinkersberg, 121. 
Knickerbocker, 115. 
Kosciusko's Garden, 120. 
Kosciusko Monument, 118. 

La Bar, George, 289. 
Lafayette College, 265. 
Lafayette, Fort, 88. 
Lakelet, 276. 
Lakeside Park, 31. 
Lambertville, 262. 
Lamokin, 125. 
Lancaster, 172. 
Lancaster Turnpike, 166. 
Landreth's seed-farm, 25, 59. 
Land's End, 78. 
Langhorne, 141. 
Lansdale, 240. 
Larimer, 236. 
Latrobe, 234. 
Laurel Hill, 9, 13, 185. 
Laurel Hill Mountain, 221. 
Laurel Run, 212, 216. 
Lawrence, Captain, 145. 
Lazaretto, 50, 124. 
League Island, 48. 
Lebanon, 179. 
Lebanon Valley, 178. 
Ledger paper-mill, 127. 
Leech's Line, 186. 
Lee, Fort, 104, 105. 
Lee, George F., 36. 



INDEX. 



297 



Lehigh and Susquehanna Railroad. 
245, 247. ' 

Lehigh Canal, 244, 253. 
Lehigh Gap, 246, 247. 
Lehigh Junction, 264. 
Lehigh Navigation Company, 245, 

253. 
Lehigh River, 242, 264. 
Lehigh University, 243. 
Lehigh Valley Railroad, 63, 142. 

242, 244, 248, 264. 
Lehigh Zinc Company, 243. 
Lehighton, 247. 
Lemon Hill, 8. 
Lenni Lenapes, 265, 269. 
Lenox Library, 153. 
Levy's cornet, 94. 
Lewistown, 196, 197. 
Lewistown Narrows, 196. 
- Lexington Market, 138. 
Liberty, 237. 

Life-Saving Stations, 34, 70, 75, 79, 
82. ^ } > } ) 

Ligonier Valley, 234. 

Limerick, 183. 

Lind, Jenny, 147. 

Linden, 64. 

Lindenthorpe, 52. 

Lion Brewery, 155. 

Little Gunpowder River, 136. 

Little Juniata Creek, 192, 200. 

Little Red Bridge, 20. 

Lloydsville, 213, 215. 

Lochiel, 175, 176. 

Lockport, 232. 

Locomotive-shops, 203. 

Locomotive-wheel shops, 205. 

Locust Point, 132, 139. 

Locusts, 276. 

Logan, 196. 

Logan, Captain, 201. 

Logan House, 202. 

Logan's Spring, 196, 201. 

Logan's Valley, 241. 

Long Branch, 69. 

Long Island, 89. 

Lookout Hill, Prospect Park, 164, 

Lookout Point, 214. 

Loretto, 222. 

Lorillard's yacht, 103. 

Lotus Club, 149. 

Louella, 169. 

Lover's Leap, 280. 

Lover's Retreat, 286. 



Loyalhanna Creek, 233. 
Ludlam, Smith, 42. 
Lumberville, 262. 
Lunatic Asylum, Harrisburg, 178. 
Lunatic Asylum, Trenton, 261. 
Lydeker Peak, 105. 

McConkey's Ferry, 201. 
McCosh, Dr. James, 61. 
McGuire, Michael, 222. 
McIIenry, Fort, 139. 
McKean, Chief Justice, 16. 
McMichael's Creek, 287. 
McVeytown, 197. 
Machinery Hall, 93. 
Madison Square, 149. 
Magnesia Spring, 224. 
Magnolia, 130. 
Malvern, 170. 
Manasquan, 70. 
Manatamany, 279. 
Manatawny Creek, 183. 
Manayunk, 184, 198. 
Manhattan Beach, 91, 93, 97. 
Manhattan Club, 149. 
Manhattan College, 104. 
Manhattanville, 104. 
Manor, 236. 
Mantua Creek, 40. 
Manunka Chunk, 266. 
Maple Spring Museum, 19. 
Mapleton, 198. 
Marcus Hook, 52. 
Marine Railway, 93, 97. 
Marion, 67. 
Marionettes, 96. 
Market Street, Newark, 65. 
Marley Mill, 128. 
Martyrs' Monument, 145. 
Maryland, steamboat, 128. 
Marysville, 191. 
Mauch Chunk, 248. 
Maurice River, 40. 
May's Landing, 32. 
Meade, General, 15. 
Meadows Shops, QQ. 
Mechanics' Cemetery, 18. 
Menlo Park, 63. 
Mercer, General, 16, 61. 
Mermaid Inn, 21. 
Merritt, Mrs., palace, 110. 
Metuchen, 63. 
Mexican cannon, 176. 
Mexico, 195. 



298 



INDEX. 



Mey, Captain Carolis J., 42. 
Middle River, 130. 
Middletown, 175. 
Midgets, 96. 

Midvale Steel- Works, 21, 140. 
Mifflin, 195. 
Mifflin, Fort, 49. 
Mill Creek, 25, 59, 184, 199. 
Millerstown, 194. 
Millstone Junction, 62. 
Millville, 40. 
Mineral Point, 231. 
Mineral Spring, Fairmount, 12. 
Miner's View, 282. 
Mingo, 183. 
Mingo Indians, 196. 
Minisink, 269. 
Minsi, Mount, 266, 269. 
Minsi Pioneers, 274. 
Monmouth battle-ground, 70. 
Monmouth Beach, 78. 
Monmouth Junction, 62, 69. 
Monongahela River, 237. 
Montebello, Lake, 137. 
Montez, Lola, 163. 
Montgomery Creek, 116. 
Montgomery, Fort, 116. 
Monument Cemetery, 17- 
Moore, Tom, 13. 
Moravians, 243. 
Moreau, General, 28. 
Moreland, 239. 
Morgan, Edwin D., 150. 
Morris, Robert, 28. 
Morris and Tasker Company, 55. 
Morris Canal, 65. 
Morris Island, 28. 
Morrisania, 106, 157. 
Morrisville, 28, 60. 
Morse, Samuel F. B., 163. 
Morton, John, 125. 
Morton, Levi P., 150. 
Morwitz, Dr. B., 26. 
Moss Cataract, 277. 
Moss Grotto, 285. 
Mount Independence, 120. 
Mount Jefferson, 258. 
Mount Joy, 174. 
Mount Minsi, 266, 269. 
Mount Pisgah, 248, 252, 255. 
Mount Pleasant, 8. 
Mount Royal, Baltimore, 136. 
Mount St. Vincent, Central Park, 
155. 



Mount St. Vincent, convent, 107. 
Mount Tammany, 266, 269. 
Mount Taurus, 121. 
Mount Union, 198. 
Mount Vernon Cemetery, 18. 
Mountain House, Cresson, 224. 
Mountain House, Palisades, 105. 
Muhlenberg College, 245. 
Murphy, Tom, 76. 
Musconetcong Mountain, 263. 
Musconetcong River, 264. 
Myerstown, 180. 

Narrows, 87, 88. 

Nassau Hall, 61. 

National Hotel poisoning, 173. 

Navesink Highlands, 64, 79, 81, 90, 

163. 
Neperhan River, 107. 
Neshaminy Creek, 24, 59, 141, 240. 
Netherwood, 142. 
Neversink Mountain, 182. 
New Brunswick, 62. 
New Gottenburg, 124. 
New Hope, 262. 
New Jersey Central Railroad, 65, 

142, 245, 264. 
New Jersey coast, 69. 
New Jersey Lunatic Asylum, 261. 
New Jersey Southern Railroad, 70. 
New Portage road, 189, 222. 
New York Central Railroad, 104, 

106. 
New York harbor, 85. 
Newark, Delaware, 127. 
Newark, New Jersey, 65. 
Newark Bay, 142. 
Newburg, 121. 
Newcastle, 54. 
Newcomb, Victor, 76. 
Newport, 194. 

Newspaper Row, New York, 148. 
Newton, Hamilton, 198. 
Newtown Railroad, 141. 
Neal, Joseph C, 15. 
Niblo, William, 163. 
Nickel-mine, 172. 
Nineveh, 232. 

Nitschman, Bishop David, 243. 
Nockamixon rocks, 263. 
Norristown, 184. 
North Pennsylvania Railroad, 140, 

238. 
North Wales Tunnel, 239. 



INDEX. 



299 



Northeast, 128. 

Northeast Pennsylvania Railroad, 

239. 
Northern Central Railroad, 135, 

191. 
Norton's Point, 90, 93. 
Nyack, 110. 

Oak Lane, 238. 

Onkington, 129. 

Obelisk, Central Park, 155. 

Observatory, Central Park, 154. 

Observatory, Coney Island, 90, 93, 

100. 
Ocean Beach, 71. 
Ocean City, 33. 
Ocean Grove, 71, 82. 
Odd-Fellows' Cemetery, 18. 
Ogontz, 238. 
Old Log Cabin, 19. 
Old Mortality, 16, 145. 
Old York Road, 238. 
Oneida, 199. 
Orange, 65. 
Oriental Hotel, 98. 
Our Lady of Angels, convent, 114. 

Pacific Avenue, Atlantic City, 34. 

Packer, Asa, 244, 249, 251, 252. 

Packer Hall, 243. 

Packerton, 247. 

Packsaddle Narrows, 233. 

Palisades, 105, 155, 156. 

Pan-Handle Railroad, 237. 

Pancoast, Professor, 74. 

Panther Creek, 258. 

Paoli, 170. 

Pardee, Ario, 265. 

Pardee Hall, 265. 

Park Avenue, 17. 

Parkesburg, 171. 

Parryville, 247. 

Passaic River, 65. 

Patapsco River, 131. 

Patterson-Bonaparte, Madame, 137. 

Patterson, General Robert, 176. 

Patterson's mills, 51. 

Paulus Hook, 68. 

Paxton boys, 172. 

Pea Patch, 55. 

Peabody Institute, 133. 

Peck's Beach, 33. 

Peekskill, 113. 

Pencoyd, 185. 



Penllyn, 239. 

Penn, 236. 

Penn Gas-Coal Company, 236. 

Penn's first landing, 125. 

Penn's Manor, 26. 

Penn's Mount, 181. 

Penn's Neck, 53. 

Pennsgrove, 53. 

Pennsylvania Canal, 186, 193, 199. 

Pennsylvania Military Academy, 

125. 
Pennsylvania Railroad, 56, 123, 

142, 166, 174, 185, 190, 193, 202, 

218, 223, 230, 260. 
Pennypack Creek, 58, 239. 
Penungauchung Hills, 266. 
People's Line, 185. 
Pequea Valley, 171. 
Periwig Island Bar, 28. 
Perkiomen Creek, 183, 241. 
Perkiomen Railroad, 245. 
Perryville, 128, 195. 
Perth Amboy Junction, 64. 
Petersburg, 192, 200. 
Petty's Island, 23. 
Philipsburg, 264. 
Philipse family, 107. 
Phoenixville, 183. 
Physical tests, 206. 
Pickering Valley, 183. 
Piermont, 109. 
Pilgrims, Church of, 160. 
Pines of Jersey, 31. 
Pipetown, 8. 

Pisgah, Mount, 248, 252, 255. 
Pitman Grove, 40. 
Pittsburg, 237. 
Pittsburg stage lines, 186. 
Plainfield, 142. 
Plaza, Prospect Park, 165. 
Pleasant Valley, 104. 
Pleasure Bay, 79. 
Plymouth Church, 161. 
Pocantico Creek, 110. 
Pocono Creek, 287. 
Pocono Mountains, 266, 270. 
Point Lookout, 214, 216. 
Pollipel's Island, 121. 
Pomeroy, 171. 

Portage Railroad, 187, 220, 226. 
Porter, Admiral, 125. 
Porter, General, 76. 
Portland, 267. 
Potter Oil-Cloth Works, 58. 



soo 



INDEX. 



Potteries, 29. 
Pottstown, 183. 
Poverty Beach, 43. 
Pratt's Garden, 13. 
Preston, Dr., 125. 
Prince Gallitzin, 221. 
Princeton, 61. 
Printz, Colonel John, 124. 
Profile Rock, 192. 
Promontory, 272, 281. 
Prospect Ilill, 135. 
Prospect Park, 100, 164. 
Prospect Rock, 272, 282. 
Pullman cottage, 75. 
Pulpit Rocks, 200. 
Putnam, Fort, 119. 

Quakertown, 241. 
Quitopahilla Creek, 179. 

Kace-course, Coney Island, 94. 

Race-course, Hudson River, 114. 

Radnor, 169. 

Rahway, 64. 

Railway retrospect, 185. 

Railway-shops, Altoona, 203. 

Ramsdell, Homer, 122. 

Rancocas Creek, 24. 

Raritan Canal, 27, 62, 260. 

Raritan River, 62. 

Read, Thomas Buchanan, 16. 

Reading, 180. 

Reading Railroad, 140, 178, 238. 

Rebecca's Bath, 285. 

Record paper-mill, 128. 

Red Bank, 49. 

Red soils, 62, 141, 172, 182, 240, 

261. 
Red Star Line, 45. 
Restell, Madame, 152. 
Rhododendron Park, 215. 
Richard Stockton, steamboat, 87, 

102. 
Richland, 180. 
Ridley Park, 123. " 
Riegelsville, 264. 
Rip Van AVinkle, 110. 
Riverdale, 107. 
Riverside, 24, 
Riverside Park, 18. 
Riverton, 24. 
Riverview Cemetery, 28. 
Roach ship-yards, 52, 125. 
Robeson Farm, 209. 



Robinson, Beverly, 120. 
Rockaway, 101. 
Rockhill Tunnel, 241. 
Rockland Lake, 111. 
Rockville, 190. 
Roebling's monument, 160. 
Roe's, 119. 
Rogers, Lloyd, 134. 
Roland Lake, 186. 
Rolla Fire Engine, 64., 
Rover and Minus, 211. 
Rowland's steel-works, 58. 
Royer's Ford, 183. 
Rumsen, 79. 
Rush, Benjamin, 61. 
Russland, steamer, 73. 
Rutgers College, 62. 

Sacred Heart, convent, 104. 

St. Clair, General Arthur, 235. 

St. George's House, 11. 

St. Ignatius' Spring, 223. 

St. Luke's Hospital, 152. 

St. Nicholas Avenue, New York, 

156. 
St. Patrick's Cathedral, 151. 
Salem, 56. 
Saltsburg, 233. 
Sandel, Peter, 46. 
Sandstone, 63, 172, 181, 182, 199, 

213, 240, 249, 264, 271. 
Sandy Hook, 80, 90, 163. 
Sang Hollow, 232. 
Sanitarium, Cresson, 226. 
Sanitarium, Point Airy, 45. 
Sappers and Miners, 275. 
Sapper's View, 282. 
Sargeant, John, 15. 
Saucon Creek, 242. 
Saw-mill River, 107. 
Schenck's, Dr., signs, 58. 
Schenck's Station, 59. 
Schooley's Mountain, 256. 
Schooner Ledge, 52. 
Schuylkill River, 11, 13, 49, 181. 
Schuylkill Valley, 181. 
Scott Avenue, Rahway, 64. 
Scott, Thomas A., 167. 
Scott's grave. West Point, 120. 
Scribner tomb, 163. 
Scudder's Falls, 261. 
Sea Beach Palace, 93. 
Seabright, 79. 
Sea Cliff Villa, 75. 



INDEX. 



301 



Seagirt, 70. 

Sea View Excursion House, 35. 

Seaville, 41. 

Sellersville, 241. 

Shade Mountain, 196, 198. 

Shafton, 236. 

Shafton Coal Company, 236. 

Shannon, frigate, 145. 

Shark River, 71. 

Sharp Mountain, 253, 258. 

Shaw Run, 214,216. 

Shawnee Hills, 267, 270. 

Shearman Creek, 192. 

Shearman Valley, 192. 

Sheridan, 232. 

Shops, Altoona, 203. 

Shrewsbury River, 72, 78. 

Sideling Hill, 199. 

Simes, Rev. S. B., 47. 

Simpson's works, 51, 

Sims, Joseph, 14. 

Sing Sing, HI. 

Singer Sewing-Machine Company, 

.142. 
Sinking Spring, 180, 201. 
Slag-heaps, 245, 247, 264. 
Slate, 241, 246, 263, 273, 287. 
Slatington, 246. 
Sleepy Hollow, 110. 
Smith, Cyrus P., 158. 
Smith, Dr. William, 200. 
Smith, Joseph, 19. 
Soldiers' and Sailors' Home, 104. 
Solesbury, 262. 
Solitude, 13. 
Somerton, 141. 
South Bethlehem, 242. 
South Ferry, New York, 146. 
South Mountain, 175, 180, 242, 248, 

262. 
Spring Lake, 71. 
Spring Mill, 184. 
Spruce Creek, 200. 
Spuyten Duyvel Creek, 106. 
Squan, 70. 
Squankum, 70. 
Standing Stone, 199. 
Stanton, 127. 
Stapleton, 88. 

Star-Spangled Banner, 139. 
State Street, Trenton, 30. 
Staten Island, 64, 87, 142, 164. 
Steinway Mausoleum, 163. 
Stemmer's Run, 130. 



Stephenson, David, 186. 

Steuben, Baron, 112. 

Stevens battery, 103. 

Stevens Castle, 103. 

Stevens, Edwin A., 103. 

Stevens Institute, 103. 

Stevens, Thaddeus, 173. 

Stewart, A. T., 148. 

Stewart, A. T., Mrs., 150. 

Stockton, Commodore, 70. 

Stockton Cottage, 74. 

Stockton, Richard, 61. 

Stoney Creek, 232. 

Stony Point, 112. 

Storm King, 121. 

Storrs, Rev. Dr., 160. 

Strawberry Hill, 9. 

Stroud, George M., 287. 

Stroudsburg, 287. 

Stuyvesant, Petei-, 116. 

Sugar Loaf Mountain, 116. 

Summit Hill, 253, 258. 

Summitville, 228. 

Sunnyside, 110. 

Sunset Hill, 271. 

Sunset Lake, 71, 82. 

Susquehanna bridge, 190. 

Susquehanna Canal, 129. 

Susquehanna River, 128, 175, 190. 

Suydam Hall, 63. 

Swamp Angel, 30. 

Swatara River, 175, 178. 

Swedeland, 184. 

Swedes' Church, Philadelphia, 46. 

Swedes' Church, Wilmington, 127. 

Sweetbrier, 8. 

Switchback, 251. 

Sylvan Way, 276. 

Tacony, 24. 

Tamanend, 269. 

Tammany Fish-House, 23. 

Tammany, Mount, 266, 269. 

Tappan Zee, 109. 

Tarrytown, 110. 

Tat's Gap, 268. 

Tatamy, Moses Funda, 268, 269. 

.Taurus, Mount, 121. 

Taylor, Moses, 76. 

Telford, 240. 

Teller's Point, 111. 

Temple, Charlotte, 145. 

Temple Emanuel, 151. 

Tennent Church, 70. 



26 



302 



INDEX. 



Terrace Mountain, 199. 
Terrapin farm, 34. 
Thalia Theatre, 158. 
Thomas Iron-AVorks, 246. 
Thomson, Charles, 15. 
Thomson, John Edgar, 167. 
Thorndale, 171. 
Tidewater Pij^e Line, 52. 
Tinicum, 50, 124. 
Tipton, 201. 
Tobyhanna, 287. 
Tohickon Creek, 241. 
Tom Moore's cottage, 13, 185. 
Tombs, New York, 148. 
Tompkins, Fort, 88. 
Torresdale, 24, 58. 
Tot, Major, 96. 
Tower Rock, 286. 
Track Indicator, 210. 
Treason Hill, 112. 
Trent, William, 29. 
Trenton, 28, 260. 
Trenton bridge, 60. 
Trenton Junction, 141. 
Trenwith, John, 35. 
Trestle-bridges, 129, 256. 
Trinity Church, New York, 143. 
Trough Creek Valley, 199. 
True Ridge Path, 278. 
Tuckahoe, 41. 
Tullytown, 26, 60.' 
Tulpehocken Creek, 181. 
Tumble Station, 263. 
Turkey Mountain, 195. 
Turtle Creek, 236. 
Tuscarora Creek, 195. 
Tuscarora Gap, 194. 
Tuscarora Indians, 195. 
Tuscarora Mountain, 192, 194. 
Tweed, Wm. M., 156. 
Twiggs, Major, 16. 
Tyler, W. D., 224. 
Tyrone, 201. 

Underground Railroad, 242, 250. 

Underbill, Dr., 111. 

Union Canal, 178. 

Union Club, 149. 

Union ferries, 158, 165. 

Union League Club, 150. 

Union Square, 149. 

Upland, 124. 

Upper Mauch Chunk, 250. 

Upper Merion, 184. 



Valley Creek, 184. 

Valley Forge, 183. 

Valley Green, 20. 

Van Allen, Hendrick, 279. 

Van Winkle, Rip, 110. 

Vanderbilt bronzes, 151. 

Vanderbilt, Cornelius, 153. 

Vanderbilt, William H., 150, 152. 

Vanderveer's, Coney Island, 98. 

Verplanck's Point, 112. 

Villa Nova College, 169. 

Villa Park, 71. 

Vineland, 40. 

Vulture, sloop, 109. 

Wadswortb, Fort, 88. 

Walls, 236. 

Wanamaker's signs, 58. 

Ward, William, 125. 

Warren Street Station, Trenton, 

260. 
Washington, Fort, Heights, 104. 
Washington Monument, Baltimore, 

132. 
Washington Square, 149. 
Washington's Crossing, 261. 
Washington's headquarters, 122. 
Water Gap, 266, 268, 274, 283. 
Water Gap House, 268, 271, 274. 
Water Street, 200. 
Water- Witch, 81. 
Wayne, 169. 

Wayne, General, 112, 170. 
Wayne Junction, 140. 
Wayne's Massacre, 170. 
Weed & Stanton's ship-yard, 122. 
Weed, Thurlow, 149. 
Weehawken, 103. 
Welsh Line, 239. 
Wenonah, 40. 
Wernersville, 180. 
Wesley Lake, 71, 82. 
AVest Brighton Beach, 90, 93, 98. 
Westchester, 170. 
West Jersey Railroad, 39. 
Westmoreland Coal Company, 236. 
West Philadelphia, 57. 
West Point, 117, 118. 
Western Pennsylvania Railroad, 

233. 
Wheatland, 173. 
Wheel-shops, 205. 
Whisky Insurrection, 237. 
Whitehall, 246. 



INDEX. 



303 



White Hill, 26. 
White, Horace, 76. 
Wildey Monument, 133. 
Wilkinson, 237. 
Williams, Barney, 163. 
Willis, N. P., 121. 
Willowgrove, 239. 
Wilmington, 54, 126. 
Wilson, Alexander, 46. 
Wilson, Major John, 166. 
Wind Gap, 268. ' 
Winona's Cliff, 272, 279. 
Winona's story, 279. 
Wissahickon Creek, 18, 185. 
Wissinoming, 279. 
Witherspoon, Dr., 61. 



Wolf, Major, 37. 
Womelsdorf, 180. 
Wood, Fort, 87. 
Woodberry, 135. 
Woodbury, 39. 
Woodlands Cemetery, 123. 
Woodward Hill Cemetery, 173. 
Wreck Pond Inlet, 71. 
Wyandotte Indians, 235. 

Tardley, 141. 
Yates's signs, 58. 
Yonkers, 107. 

Zinc, 243. 

Zoological Garden, 57. 



THE END. 



PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPING OTT &- CO. 
Florida: Its Scejtery, Climate, and History. With 

an Account of Charleston, Savannah, Augusta, and Aiken, 
and a Chapter for Consumptives. A Complete Handbook 
and Guide. By Sidney Lanier. New and Revised Edition. 
Profusely Illustrated. i2mo. Fine cloth. ^^1.50. 

of which it treats. A chapter for con- 
sumptives will be found full of excellent 
practical advice for those who, afflicted 



with this complaint, are in search of a 
mild and favorable climate." — Botton 
Saturday Evening Gazette. 



" Written in a delightfully sketchy, 
off-hand style, the author is artist, 
poet, musician, scientist, all in one." 
— New Orleans Bulletin. 

" It is spirited in style, attractive in 
material, and is at once a history, a 
handbook, and a guide for the region 

Tlie New Hyperion, Froju Paris to Marly by Way 

of the Rhine. By Edward Strahan. Profusely Illus- 
trated with over Three Hundred Engravings, from designs by 
Dore and others. 8vo. Extra cloth, black and gilt orna- 
mentation. ^3.00. Full gilt. ^3.50. 

" Besides the descriptions, which 
are exceedingly racy and characteris- 
tic, we have a series of illustrations, 
in many respects the most amusing 
we have seen, although the ground 
gone over has been traveled before, 
and the «tory is committed to scenes 



connected with Mr. Longfellow's 
celebrated romance of Hyperion; the 
writing is exceedingly piquant, and 
the general air of the book so jolly 
that we enjoy it quite as well as if it 
had not been indebted to two excellent 
models." — Chicago Inter-Ocean, 



Europe Viewed through American Spectacles. By 

C. C. Fulton, Editor of the Baltimort American. 8vo. 

New Edition. Fine cloth. j^2.oo. 
*' It y very pleasant to be able con- I so much delight that we have little 
scientiously to praise a book of a time to spare to elaborate its merits." 
brother editor. We have read it with | — Boston Globe. 

Many Lands and Many People, Being a Series of 

Sketches of Travel in all Parts of the World. With One 
Hundred and Forty-seven Illustrations. 8vo. Extra cloth, 
black and gilt ornamentation. $2.50. 



• " Truly a work of universal interest, 
not only to young people eager for 
infcimation concerning the wide and 
wonderful world in which they live. 



but to all who delight in clever sketches 
of scenes abroad that possess the 
charm of novelty." — St. Louis Timtt 



Lady Bell. A Story of the Last Century, By the 

author of " Citoyenne Jacqueline," etc. Illustrated. i2mo. 

Extra cloth. $\.2^. 

•"Citoyenne Jacqueline' won a fair I public again with 'Lady Bell,' a de« 
success with the lovers of current fie- cidedly attractive story of English 
lion, and the author now tempts the | life." — New York Home Journal. 



PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT ^ CO. 



Philosophers and Fools. A Study. By ytdia Diihr- 

ing. Crown 8vo. Extra cloth. jg2.oo. 
Their author has thought much. 



leen a great deal, and read the best 
authors. She possesses a mind of in- 
trospective and analytical power, and 
the refined delicacy of her taste causes 
her to express the conclusions to which 
^he has arrived in language at once at- 



tractive and forcible. We have derived 
great pleasure from her thoughtful and 
carefully studied essays. They discuss 
with fairness and ability that question 
which all persons love most to read 
about — themselves." — Chicago InUr- 
Ocean. 



Gentlefolks and Others. By jfidia Duhring, author 



of " Philosophers and Fools, 

** For summer reading, and especial- 
ly for reading aloud among people of 
refinement and culture, there are few 
more desirable books than this." — 
Fhilada. Evening Bulletin. 



" l2mo. Extra cloth. ^2.00. 

" The success of ' Philosophers and 
Fools' justified Miss Duhring in con- 
tinuing the papers that constituted 
that volume; and the thirteen essays 
in this will vindicate the praises that 
won." — Fhilada. North American. 



Scrambles Among the Alps in the Years 1860-69. 

By Edward Whymper. Handsomely and profusely Illus- 
trated. 8vo. Extra cloth, gilt. $2.<p. Full gilt. $3.00. 

*' Mr. Whymper's volume is as fasci- 
nating as it is exact. It excels any 
recent novel in * interest.' It gives us 
new information, and thrills us with 
vivid descriptions of mountain adven- 
ture. We cannot forecast the popu- 
larity of such a volume; but we are 
sure that if the great body of readers 
knew what was in it, there would be a 
scramble in the bookstores for these 
• Scrambles Among the Alps.' " — Bos- 
lion Globe. 

"Alpine adventure and scenery have 
never been better portrayed." — Phila- 
delphia Age. 

Pen Pictures of Europe. Where and How We Went 

and What we Saw during a Seventeen Months' Tour. By 

Elizabeth Peake. Profusely and handsomely Illustrated, 

Crown 8vo. Extra cloth. ^3.50. 

story of her journey in a series of let- 
ters, which are bright, entertaining, 
and suggestive, the result of keen and 
close observation, and of that intui- 



"Graphically described and elegantly 
illustrated." — Brooklyn Daily Eagle. 

" More beautiful, and at the same 
time faithful, Alpine woodcuts have 
never yet appeared. In one word, they 
are, with scarcely one or two excep- 
tions, admirable, and will be regarded 
as triumphs of this kind of art. No 
preceding publication on the same sub- 
ject surpasses it in general attractive- 
ness, and we are disposed to say none 
equals it as the work of one man."— 
London A theneeum. 



" It has often been said that the in- 
frilligent European traveler who should 
make a literal transcript of his im- 
pressions from day to day, without 
any attempt at originality, and with 
no pretense of literary excellence, could 
not fail to produce a valuable and at- 
tractive work. This is very nearly 
the character of the present volume." 
—New York Tribune. 

" Another very readable book of 
travel is Pen Pictures of Europe, by 
Elizabeth Peake. The author tells the 



tive perception of things which is a 
part of woman's nature." — Baton 
Journal. 

" This is a superb book. The illus- 
trations are excellent in every respect, 
and the reading matter quite abov« 
the average of books of travel."-- 
Chicago Journal. 



PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT ^ CO. 
THE 

"ODD TRUMP" SERIES, 

8vo. Fine cloth. $1.25. Paper cover. 75 cts. 



THE ODD XFtXJlVII>. 

'* Deserving the highest praise. . . . | English, with a purity of style tbat 
Its inciJents are all pure ; it is the is in itself refreshing." — Louisvi/l4 
apotheosis of chivalric bravery and Courier-Journal, 
courtesy ; and is written in elegant 



"A good novel in the best sense of the word." — Indianapolis yowmal 



" Will more than ever stamp its I novelists of America, or it may be of 
author as one of the foremost popular j the world." — New York Commercial 



FI.E:S£I ANJi SI>IMX- 



" We do not at all wonder that these 
novels are popular. They deserve 
popularity for being precisely what 



they are meant to be and what they 
profess to be." — New York Evenittt 
Post. 



THE CLIFTON PICTURE. 

" A novel that the most exciting I situations, bright and entertaining.' 
Uste will revel in. It is brimful of — Boston Post, 



THE GHOST OF FtEDBFtOOK. 



" It is a thoroughly readable novel, 
pure and vigorous in tone, with plenty 
of love, romance, and humor, and not 
much ghost. The plot is worked out 



most skilfully, and will puzzle even tho 
inveterate novel readers." — LouisvilU 
Courier- Journal, 



PUBLICATIONS OF J. B. LIPPINCOTT &- CO. 

BUL^^^ER'S NOVELS. 

Each Complete in One Volume. 



The Caxtons. 

Pelham. 

Eugene Aram. 

The Last of the Barons. 

Lucretia. 

Devereux. 

The Last Days of Pompeii, 

Rienzi. 

Godolphin. 

A Strange Story. 

Kenelm Chillingly. 



Night and Morning. 

Ernest Maltravers. 

Alice. 

Zanoni. 

Harold. 

Leila, Pilgrims of the 

Rhine, and Calderon. 
Paul Clifford. 
The Disowned. 
The Parisians. 
Pausanias, the Spartan. 



Each Complete In Two Volumes. 

My Novel. What Will He Do With It? 



THE LORD LYTTON EDITION. 

Complete in 25 Volumes. Large i2mo. With Frontispiece. Extra 
Cloth, Black and Gilt, $1.25. Price per Set, $3125. 



" We know of no series so desirable 
in every respect as this." — Philadel- 
phia Evening Bulletin. 

" It makes one of the most attractive 



and valuable series to be found in any 
library for reading in distinction from 
reference. It is at once handsome and 
cheap." — Chicago Evetmig yournal. 



THE GLOBE EDITION. 

Complete in 25 Volumes. Printed on Tinted Paper. i6mo. With 
Frontispiece. Fine Cloth, $1,00. Price per Set, $25.00, 



" We have more than once com- 
mended the Globe as the best edition 
of Bulwer accessible to American 
readers." — Cincinnati Gazette. 



. . . "The convenient size, beau- 
tiful style, and cheapness of this edition 
is worthy the attention of book-buy- 
ers." — Pittsburgh Gazette. 



LIBRARY EDITION. 

Complete in 47 Volumes. Large Type. Fine Tinted Paper. lamo. 
Extra Cloth, $1.00. Price per Set, $47.00. 



EACH NOVEL SOLD SEPARATELY. 



I 



